[attr="class","char-words"]he knew the man next to him. a rocket executive — jayden cross.
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he murmurs a thanks as he takes the coleslaw.
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"well." he gives a nod of appreciation as a spoonful of beans hits his tray. "though i'm not quite sure why the submarine is so cold all the time." given the massive fan room that recirculated air, he had a suspicion at the very least.
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he blinks as something comes to mind.
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"don't executives have.. better kitchens?"

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[attr="class","char-words"]river blinks at Selena Desmarais's explanation.
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"uh... i'm just here for a paycheck." it's not entirely true, of course, but his real intentions are unknown to everyone but himself. one thing was for sure, however.
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"i'm a 'point-and-do' type of person. so.. don't hesitate to point?" he trails it off with a shrug.
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what Selena Desmarais views as clouds, river sees something different.
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"i think we're lost in the mist."

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[attr="class","char-words"]river took an exaggerated drag of his cigarette, leaning heavily into the calming effect of the nicotine.

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granite cave had, over the course of the past few days, been a heavily contested area. with the incursion into the deep-sea having settled into more of a cold-war, than an outright bloodbath, things seemed to have calmed a measure.

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river would've been more concerned, had he been the only rocket assigned to this location. but, he wasn't. thank arceus for that. he wanted to milk this easy duty for as long as he could manage.

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his eyes fall to the butt of the stick in his hand, and he tosses it carelessly onto the earth below. while his foot scatters it into ash, he reaches for another, and places it between his lips. from his other pocket, he manages a pack of matches — river didn't care much for traditional lighters.

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friction sets it ablaze, but a strange rush of wind snuffs it out. he tries again, and again, the flames disappear. river sniffs, irritated, when the strange scent of.. something catches his attention.

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"do you smell that?" he asks of the woman nearby, a rather haughty enforcer-type. she'd left him mostly alone, so he he did the same, but river needed to make sure he wasn't imagining things. even if it meant opening the can of worms that was a battle-hungry psychopath.

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[attr="class","char-words"]sweat, body-odor, and the tangy metallic of blood — the lingering smell was putrid.
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but, in a way, he asked for it; why volunteer for a task like this otherwise? that didn't keep him from dreading every moment. nevertheless, the night wasn't a total waste. he'd found something interesting.
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"you've always given me the impression of a haughty, noble persian. this place is more suited for a street cat; clinging to the recesses of the lower-class." he says as he fills the shadow of vincenzo de luca 's back, head slightly cocked like a curious mutt.
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"still impeccably dressed as always." a far-cry from his own tattered, loose, and baggy clothing. "what brings you here?"

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[attr="class","char-words"]the bell that marks his entry chimes gently, bugling the arrival of the middle-aged man. river, despite the early-onset of spring, wears a long sleeved t-shirt and ripped jeans.
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river casually flips a golden coin into the air, clasping it to the palm of his other hand. peering beneath his cupped palm, he sighs.
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his eyes search the shop lazily, landing on a shelf of old telephones somewhere along the wall, before he moves with all the grace and hurry of a sleeping persian to investigate the shelf.

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[attr="class","char-words"]"don't beat yourself up too, bad." he takes a drag of the nicotine, letting it flow through and settle his ever-growing pit of anxiety.
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"i feel like we're far from done with this place."

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"not worth the effort", he drones in reply, the hissing of a flame catching in his lighter. "this forest is their domain; we'd probably be playing in their hands."
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that suppressed sigh from before finally escapes, and with it, an exhale of smoke.
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"chances are we just made an enemy. of who? i couldn't tell you."


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[attr="class","char-words"]how did they fit a courtyard on a submarine?
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it was one of many questions he had, but far from the pressing. it was rather unorthodox, but pleasant nevertheless. the smoliv in his care explored the greenery, small body trembling from the anxiety.
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the ruffling of grass signals an approach, and river's eyes slide to the corner of his peripheal.
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"Elisabeth Fiorelli ."

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