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[riverbills]

For a brief moment River's grip tightened around the sofa arm. He knew he was being petty and never wanted to be mad at Mickey but he thought his annoyance was justified. They were meant to be working together and she decided to leave him to be micro-managed by Sama without telling him first. Mickey had always been considerate so he had no idea why she would do that. He would after ask her after he finished sulking.

Despite trying to hold a grudge against her River's lips curved into a small smile when Mickey chuckled at his rambling. He could never turn down positive attention, espeically not from Mickey. "I suppose you're right. A tragic distraction would be the wrong kind of distraction this week." Usually River would have loved the idea of being a knowledgeable detective in a long flowing coat, reavling answers to a rapt audience. But he didn't want anyone in Woodrow to get hurt and he was still feeling a kind of existential exhaustion. "Anyway, according to Tally you were already dealing with a personal tragedy before you recieved the tragic news?" River asked with a raised eyebrow.

mickey was tired, not because she exerted herself today, she definitely didn't do that, but the week has been long and draining. sleep was much harder in this house than it was in the past, too much going on both in her mind and in the house. looking up from her place on one of the couches, she glanced at river as he spoke, his whimsy and love of theatrics always amazed mickey. she could see it though, the plush, rich room filled with confused and scared patrons as they try to figure out who mysterious killed one of the other party goers. tons of movies were made of it. she groaned to herself as richer went on to bring up the disastrous dinner, wishing she could just forget. "we should keep the murder mysteries to the movies, this week is already heavy enough," mickey said with a small chuckle.

[riverbills]

Task: Share an early memory your character has had at Woodrow House

Date:1989 & 1984

Location: The Music Room and a recording studio in LA

The size of Woodrow House wasn't what overwhelmed River. He had been in plenty of grand hotels in his short life and he grew up in a large house. However, instead of aging wooden surfaces and walls lined with large bookshelves like in Woodrow the house River grew up in was full of reflective white surfaces and walls lined with platinum records. More importantly the house he grew up in was home. Woodrow was never going to be home, he decided with his arms folded. He missed his playroom and the familiarity of home. Most importantly he missed his parents.

River sighed and rolled over to look at the clock on the bedside table. It was illuminated by the low light of a purple lava lamp (one of the few personal touches he had added in the brief time he had been at Woodrow). It was roughly one in the morning. It was still the middle of the day in California. He wondered what he would be doing if he still had his parents. He decided he would probably be jamming with them in the family music room.

It was always an exciting adventure when River was taken into town. It was a rare occasion and whenever he asked his parents or nanny why they told him the city was dangerous and a special treat. However, as he squirmed in his seat, being allowed to accompany his dad (or Uncle Marty as he was told to call him in front of people) didn't feel like a special treat. The adults were too preoccupied with recording music to pay attention to him. Occasionally he would lean over to talk to the sound engineers on the same side as the booth as him and he would be shushed. His cabbage patch doll and crayons could only keep him preoccupied for so long.

There was a brief break in recording because his dad had gone for a piss break. River decided it was his opportunity to introduce himself to the session musicians. It had been too long since he talked to anyone and musicians were always rad. The sounded engineers were too wrapped up in a conversation that sounded boring . It was the perfect opportunity for him to sneak into the other side of the booth. The drummer and bassist gave him an apprehensive look when he walked into the studio but didn't say anything. He would introduce himself to them if he had time but his attention was drawn to the guy on the weird keyboard thing. The man had a shirt with the first three buttons undone underneath a leather jacket. His shirt was white with various blue and pink geometric shapes. What River noticed from where he was sitting behind the soundboard were curls cascading down past his shoulders. Now that River was closer he could see that he had a hoop earring and smaller silver hoops further up his ear. He was cool in a way River couldn't describe when he was seven and for reasons he couldn't put his finger on

"Hello River greeted, enthusiastically.

The weird not quite piano player took a drag from his cigarette before replying."Hey" He answered with a bemused expression.

“I really like your earring. You look like a pirate”

“Hope you're not trying to say I look evil.”

"Oh no, not all pirates are evil. Some pirates in movies are actually nice but they're fighting a mean government.”

“It's always good to fight mean governments.”

“What does this do?” River asked, pointing at the weird not quite piano.”It looks like a piano but it makes noises that sound like a robot singing.”

“It's a synthesizer. It's basically an electronic piano and you can change the settings to make it produce a range of sounds. Do you want to have a quick go?”

River nodded excitedly. The synth player stood up and gestured for River to hop on the stool. He put his foot on the pedal to adjust the height once River sat down. River pressed a sequence of keys and squealed in delight at the sounds it made.

The music room was silent. River stared down at the piano keys. He breathed in deeply. It should have been easy to press a key. He had done it countless times before. But it didn't feel right. His limbs felt heavy and music didn't sound the same anymore. It was as if how wrong his life felt without his parents extended into music as a concept. Every note seemed out of tune. He lifted his right hand up and it hovered over the piano, shaking slightly. If he pressed a key he would feel like he was betraying his parents. He couldn't have music without them. He felt like he shouldn't have been in Woodrow's music room. He thought he shouldn't be at Woodrow at all. He wanted to go home. He wanted his parents back. He felt the tears begin to fall and it was difficult to breathe. He jumped off the stool on shaky legs before kicking it over.

[riverbills]

When:Tuesday, September 6, 2005, 5:15PM

Where:The Great Room

Who: Open @woodrowhub

After spending all morning complaining about his arms feeling sore and all afternoon complaining his back aching River was relieved to be out of The Geenhouse. He had no issue with living up to the pampered spoiled rotten rich kid cliché. He was the first to admit he had never known anything besides wealth. Unlike some of the other wards he wasn't rescued from an orphanage by Richard. After his parents' deaths his grandparents swiftly agreed Richard had the resources and remote house required to give River a safe and fulfilling adolescence. River was also the first to admit he would do anything to avoid manual labour. As a teenager his most notable method to avoid manual labour was to volunteer at a nursing home. He would classify gossiping with elderly residents as an act of charity because he was preventing loneliness.

River much preferred The Great Room to The Greenhouse. The comfortable seating in The Great Room meant it was the perfect place for two of his favourite activities; lounging and chatting. "This room always reminded me of murder mysteries." he stated, taking a glance around the room. Memories of trying to get the other wards to play Clue with him came flooding back. It wasn't his favourite boardgame because he was good at it. It was his favourite because he got to create elaborate backstories for the characters."All of Woodrow did but this room in particular. You know, at the end of Poirot where he would reveal every character’s secrets? This would be the perfect location for one of those monologues."He proclaimed. His childhood habit of considering what kind of scenes would be perfect to stage in specific places never went away. "Though after what happened at dinner huge revelations are the last thing we need."

[riverbills]

River wriggled in his seat as he tried to make himself comfortable. A glass of lemoade was balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. He already had four glasses of lemonade during the day ,as an excuse to take breaks, but he couldn't resist helping himself to another. When he lounged in The Great Room as a teenager he used to curl up with his legs underneath him. His knees were aching too much to do that.

River was adaptable but not in the sense that he adapted to new locations or tasks. He refused to change anything about himself unless he felt the need to and hated carrying out tasks he disliked. However, he was adaptable in the sense he made locations adapt to him. The Great Room was one of those locations he adapted for his own purposes as a teenager. While others wards preferred to stay in their rooms River flounced around The Great Room like he owned it. He spent a significant amount of his leisure time in there, writing or roping the other wards into conversations.

River looked over at Naomi as she spoke then took a sip of his drink. From what he remembered she was one of the wards that spent their leisure time on their own. His opinion of her was neutral (a rare occurance for adolescent River). Her quite nature was neither intriguing or offputting to him. It was simply a fact.

"Nobody threw mud at each other or got gravely injured so I'm calling that a win." he replied with a wry chuckle. He considered The Greenhouse clean up a loss for him personally. His muscles ached and he had stains on his jeans. But his personal suffering didn't reflect the progress of the rest of the wards,. "Though I don't understand why Tally and Angus forced us to clean The Greenhouse. A real Greenhouse cleaning team would have done a more efficient job and something more of us enjoyed would have better bonding activity. Also, we have our Gala activities to think about." he monologued before sighing. He was excited to create the video tribute but now he was working with Sama he was slightly dreading it. He had nothing against Sama but she was going to be less enjoyable to work with than Mickey would have been and he feared she was going to micromanage the project. "Speaking of our Gala duities do you have any ideas for the menu yet? Whatever you decide on doesn't matter because it's going to be delicious."

WHO: OPEN @woodrowhub WHEN: Tuesday, September 6, 2005 TIME: 7:03pm LOCATION: The Great Room GIF CREDIT: HERE

Naomi could feel herself sinking into the part of the plush, vintage sofa she was sitting on. It was tempting to slip into another nap, given her sleep schedule had yet to reset and the day the group had. It had been a varying level of hard work across the wards that day in the greenhouse and admittedly, Naomi was somewhere in the middle.

The Greenhouse was a lovely spot, and gardening had seemed like a good hobby choice for a quiet, solitary child like Naomi. For Richard, Naomi had wanted it to stick, but she didn't have a green thumb and working today was a sore reminder of a connection to Richard she could have had, if she were better at it. Even so, when she looked down at her hands that afternoon with the sun shining on the various ticks of scars that lined her hands caked with soil rather than food products, she felt proud.

Now they all seemed far more deflated, tired from the labor and the night creeping up. She looked around at her peers, thinking about the little moments that she caught on to, tensions that she wasn't sure of. Mostly, Naomi didn't care about those things, happy to disengage and let people sort it themselves. Here, stuck together for the week it felt inescapable and it beckoned memories of her own mother, and the ways Naomi would try to anticipate the fallout when they shared a small apartment.

"I thought we did well today, right?" Naomi offered unprompted, the nervous kid returning, leaving Naomi to run her fingers along the velvet sofa as she spoke, eyes remaining on her fingers. "In working together and the amount we accomplished. It was a good idea."

[riverbills]

River drummed his ring and middle fingers against his thigh. If Reuben was unpredictable like an anxious Jack Russell, Natalia was unpredictable like a bored Ragdoll cat ; it was difficult to tell when she was going to strike. Her unpredictability was frustrating but also exciting. River was always excited to see what she was going to say next.

“I wouldn't say that. I get the vibe some people wouldn't attend a Richard Woodrow ward pseudo-family reunion if they had the choice.” he remarked in a mild version of the sing-song tone he only used for gossip. He wasn't a malicious gossip. Gossip was a useful way to see how people were doing. It also didn't hurt that he found gossiping entertaining. Natalia's judgemental nature made her the perfect person to gossip with.

He knew the tone people used when they considered freelance to be another term for unemployed and he knew the tone Natalia used when she wanted to destroy a person's self esteem. River wouldn't consider himself self conscious but hearing those two tones combined into one made him want to crawl out of his skin. “Yes, freelance. It means I have some free will while deciding my projects and don't have one specific boss who's a pain in my ass.” he replied with a tight lipped smile. He didn't care if people looked down on him, he just wished people understood that he couldn't be tied down by a traditional nine to five. He considered himself too much of a free spirit for a traditional job. “What's it like being someone's underling?” River asked, cocking his head to the side.

He didn't buy that Geneviève let Natalia fly to America for at least a week out of the kindness of her heart. But he wasn't going to challenge Natalia and call her unnecessary to her face. He enjoyed their back and forth but that was different from outright cruelty. Moreover, the day after Richard’s funeral was the wrong time to be callous. It was a difficult time for all the wards. “That's kind of her. Are you learning a lot from Geneviève? She sounds like she's incredibly skilled.” he didn't think Natalia needed much help to develop her skills but she wasn't at the stage where she was capable of running her own fashion house. River was sure she would be eventually.

“Richard's 75th. It was a fabulous party.” It was an uncharacteristically short answer. Partly because he felt guilty that he only visited a couple of times a year and partly because he didn't want to come across like he was insulting Natalia for visiting even less than he did. “What about you; when was the last time you visited?”

Natalia hummed in agreement. "Don't we all?" There was no denying that to a degree it was nice for all of them to be in one place, but the circumstance that brought them together soured the reunion.

"Freelance?" She repeated, giving a tilt of her head. Wasn't that just what people used in place of 'in between jobs'? You know, to lessen the concern and judgment? There was probably something more to that but she didn't care to pick at it in the moment. River had been tolerable for the past few days after all. "How... kind of them," she settled for saying, taking note of the way he scratched behind his ear.

If Natalia thought she could avoid questions about her own career, she was sorely mistaken. Perhaps she should consider a career in Hollywood after this week, given all the lies she was spinning to save herself from embarrassment. "Busy, true," she answered, "but manageable if you're decisive and well-prepared. Both of which Geneviève is, so I was allowed to come here to pay my respects and tie any loose ends." She punctuated her words with a practiced smile and steady eye contact, determined not to let River doubt a word of what she said.

Eager to keep things off the topic of work, Natalia busied River with another question. "So when was the last time you were here for a visit?"

[riverbills]

When asked to describe River in a way that wasn't insulting the first word that would come to most people's minds was unabashed. River was unable to hide his feelings and he was unashamed of that. His feelings would pour out of him. Usually that was a strength but sometimes he would make his feelings everyone else's problem. The Greenhouse restoration was one of the times he made his feelings everybody else's problem.

River had never made it a secret that he was the kind of pamered brat you would expect the child of a celebrity ,who was then taken in by a rich eccentric, to be. He whined when he was forced to do manual labour. It was tedious and he hated getting his clothes dirty. He could tolerate paint or ink stains but he couldn't tolerate mud or the smell of soil. He had spent the entire morning sighing after carrying a heavy wheelbarrow and making exaggerated disgusted faces when soil dropped on the ground near him. Eventually he had switched tasks with someone so he was working on a task that required more precision.

River was trimming a bush when he overheard Sama complaining about the wards ,who were complaining about having to restore the Greenhouse,. That seemed hypocritical but he wasn't going to tell Sama that. He was skilled at negotiating but he had no chance at squabbling with Sama. He wasn't always aware of his limitations but he knew she was more intelligent than him. "I don't know about that. In my opinion there's too many of us working on the Greenhouse. I fear the green thumbless wards like myself are just getting in the way and slowing down progress. Don't you agree that there's more useful things most of us could be doing? We have a gala to plan." River reasoned, looking over his shoulder at his shoulder at Sama. It seemed that others had the same opinion because he'd barely seen Reece move away from her boombox all morning.

who: Sama and open! @woodrowhub where: the greenhouse when: Tuesday, 10:00am

Sama was trying hard not to be precious about the day’s activity, mostly on principle. She wasn’t opposed to manual labor, and she didn’t want to be lumped in with the wards who were grumbling about sweat and impending blisters and sore muscles. They sounded like exactly the kind of pampered brats you’d expect to come from a house like Woodrow, and Sama had always made a point of avoiding that. Under different circumstances, she would have relished having a task with such a tangible outcome. Sama fully expected to feel quite satisfied once the greenhouse was cleaned out, knowing that it was a result of her own hard work. 

The bigger problem was that spending an entire day on something they could easily pay someone to do seemed like a waste of precious time. Sama had a ticking clock in her head, counting down the remaining time until their week was up. Five days and fourteen hours to go. And her mental to-do list for the week, though neither as detailed nor as exhaustive as she’d like it to be, wasn’t getting any shorter. No one else could go through the books and movies and games to decide what, if anything, each of them would like to keep. She didn’t know anyone outside of Woodrow she could trust to catalog the antiques, or sort through Adelia and Winnifred’s things in storage. The list went on and on.

Really, it was impressive that it took two hours of diligent work, on Sama’s part at least, for her patience to wear thin. She huffed, and commented to the person next to her, “I know this isn’t the most fun way to spend a morning, but if everyone put their back into it we’d be able to finish that much quicker.” And then they could focus on something more important. But she didn’t say that part out loud.

[riverbills]

River rarely walked on eggshells. He was straightforward when he wasn't trying to charm producers. He said whatever he wanted and people would just have to deal with that. However, he acted slightly more cautiously around Reuben. He was impossible to figure out. When they were younger River had no idea what Reuben thought of him. He couldn't tell if he hated him or generally had an avoidant and sarcastic demeanour.

River drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter top."I'm assuming that's government employee speak for no?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow. He had no idea what Reuben's job was. He assumed it was at least vaguely related to politics because Angus mentioned he lives in DC. River snorted. He didn't know Reuben was capable of enthusiasm. It was endearing if he wasn't actually being sarcastic "Like I said I love scavenger hunts as much as the next guy but not enought to fully engage with one first thing. I can't solve mysteries on a whim, especially not without breakfast or my morning coffee. I'm not Jessica Fletcher. Though she strikes me as the hearty breakfast type now that I think about it." River didn't spend a lot of time thinking about the eating habits of Jessica Fletcher but he thought about them more than most people. "Ask nicely and I might consider it." He joked as he made his way to the cupboard spare mugs were kept in.

River was one the wards he hadn’t spoken to directly after his eulogy mishap. Not that he really talked to anyone willingly, it was more akin to being in their crosshairs. He was ready to move on from it, though he knew not everyone could say the same. He’d be timid around River, if not because of the eulogy then because their relationship was delicate itself.

He watches River tut around the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It was a good idea. A great idea even. He was so hell bent on trying to solve his singular stupid clue that he neglected his morning cup. It would certainly dehaze the hangover fog that clouded his brain. It was rare for him to have a single driving focus like this. Maybe, it could pause for refreshments.

“I might have,” he says, a little cagey. Maybe he’ll gauge River’s willingness to help before brandishing his shiny clue. “I was pretty gung ho on the whole scavenger thing, wasn’t even thinking about breakfast let alone coffee,” Did that make him childish? His zeal matching that of a child on Christmas who saw a bike sized box underneath the tree.

“Can I have a cup?” He motions to the machine but makes no move to get up and get himself a mug.

[riverbills]

River took another drag from his cigarette. There was a small smile on his face as he listened to Mickey. He appreciated that she was willing to talk about something that wasn't related to Richard’s wake. He had enough conversations about how lovely the service was and how great of a loss Richard’s death was. He was conflicted. He found it comforting to talk about Richard ; it helped to process his grief. But it also felt like poking at an open wound. He needed a distraction and the comfort of a normal conversation. "Hold on, that's a cool idea. Can I use it if I make a pivot to sci-fi?" he asked, knowing it was unlikely. He had TV dramas to focus on while nobody brought his screenplays. "Id pay you like a million dollars and you'd make a great scientific adviser."

"Yeah, there's a very obvious parallel." he commented. It made sense River made the connection between the wards' lives and Annie but Mickey didn't. He'd always viewed his life through the lens of Hollywood movies. Objectively, he was aware most people didn't have absent musician parents and he felt like the star of his own movie. He paused and took another drag from his cigarette. "You know, we were really fucking lucky to be taken in by probably the only kindly millionaire with a habit for collecting orphans. I don't care what anyone else thinks."

“We can sign a legally binding document if you want. If you're not one of the first people I thank I'll owe you millions.” The joke was that River winning an Emmy wasn't inevitable but him shouting out Mickey if he won was. Even though she was younger than him she was his rock when they were teenagers. She was a shoulder to lean on and usually had time for his bullshit when most people didn't. “I'm holding you to that. If you jump in the pond I'm not going to fish you out. I don't think I could ; I haven't swam properly in years.” It was true he hadn't swam in years but he was lying when he said he wouldn't try to rescue Mickey. "You're my only sister who's a Canadian supergenius for now. It's never too late to acquire more." he proclaimed as he took a drag from his dying cigarette. He had no idea if he was speaking in coherent sentences. He was too tired and devastated to care. But even in difficult circumstances he still felt a compulsion to keep talking and fill up space. If he let silence take hold his thoughts and feelings would overwhelm him. “It's nice to see you again too Mick. Wish it was under better circumstances though. Like for example, not on a fucking freezing terrace.”

she knew it was silly, and maybe it was poor timing, but it was nice to be able to laugh and joke after everything. for a just a moment they could be kids again, joking about aliens instead of talking about the serious topics in the back of their minds. "oh yeah, but my alien friends drink lava instead of water. their planet is much hotter than ours," she continued along. a part of her wished they could just keep doing this. ignore everything else and joke around forever. they wouldn't have to talk about richard, or what they're going to do now, or how mickey doesn't have a girlfriend or a home to go back to. they could just keep talking about aliens.

"i guess i never thought about it, but no, there are a lot of parallels." their lives were kind of like a movie. without richard, who knew where the sixteen of them would be now. mickey was sure she wouldn't have had any of the opportunities she had without richard. which was partly why she couldn't understand where reuben was coming from with his eulogy. she was so grateful and thankful of richard, she can't imagine anyone else seeing things differently than her. "yeah, it is."

"i appreciate that, and will hold you to it," she says with a smile. it was kind of strange to think about how far some of them have come. she has a brother who writes for tv, another who is a famous author, siblings in government. they really have come a long way from the kids who sat around the dining room table fifteen years ago. "i promise to not jump in the pond, i don't think that would be a good idea in this state," mickey laugh. "i'm your only sister who's a canadian supergenius," she said with a playful roll of her eyes. not that she considered herself a genius but the sentiment is sweet. "i'm glad we have each other. it's really nice to see you again, river."

[riverbills]

River barely stayed still. He could often be found making frenetic gestures as he monologued or frantically typing on his newly acquired laptop (or typewriter back when he lived at Woodrow House). He had too many feelings to keep inside of him so he often expressed them with gestures. However, as he got older he learned the value of ruminating. Somethings could only be processed while staying still. The impact of the scavenger hunt was one of those things. He would have loved a psychical prize but could see Richard's point. Fond memories were more important than any cash prize or object. He ached while imagining Richard sitting at his desk, devising the hunt while thinking about previous scavenger hunts the wards did together as children.

"Oh hi Tally." he greeted as he folded his legs to make space on the sofa for Natalia. Before she came in River was draped over the sofa ruminating. "It's always a pleasure to see you. Though of course I wish it was under better circumstances." At least it was a pleasure to see her when she wasn't acting inconvenienced by everything he did. "I'm basically freelance. Hollywood lets me come as I pleased." he lied, scratching behind his left ear. He was a staff writer on a medical drama. He had a deadline he was avoiding. "I was writing the next big hit but it's hard to write in these circumstances." There was some truth to his words. "What about you? I thought fall was a busy period in the world of high fashion."

LOCATION: Great Room DATE: Monday, September 5, 2005 (post scavenger hunt, before dinner) Closed starter for @riverbills

It's the moments we share, the memories we find.

Natalia tried not to be disappointed with the answer to the riddle and the lack of prize at the end of the scavenger hunt. She clung to that disappointment, finding it more preferable than the overwhelming sentimentality that washed over her when she realized Richard had crafted this entire hunt solely for the purpose of getting the wards to work towards a single goal and spend time together.

She wandered into the Great Room and spotted River, taking a seat on one of the sofas nearby where she crossed one leg over the other and regarded him. A mix of curiosity and mild amusement on her face. "River, hi," she greeted, her tone more cordial than usual. Since their return to Woodrow, River had surprisingly managed to stay relatively low on her shit list. "I'm surprised Hollywood let you go so easily. Aren't you writing its next big hit?"

[riverbills]

River tilted his head to the side. People had defended him by insisting he wasn't that annoying or dramatic his entire life. He knew that wasn't a phrase people used when they believed what they were saying. "You don't sound convinced but I'll take your word for it." River remarked with a shrug. It was the wrong day to start arguments over nothing. He couldn't remember the last time he wanted to start an argument with Eliza. If he had to guess it was probably when he was sixteen and insufferable in a negative way. He listened attentively to Eliza brag about the excitement of the New York art scene as he took a drag from the cigarette he stole from her. He couldn't tell if the narrative she was crafting was for his benefit or hers. "Wow, that sounds awesome." River loved parties in all their various forms ; from intense nights in overcrowded clubs to subdued nights spent oversharing with strangers in mansions of people he didn't know. But sometimes LA parties felt like a soulless means to an end. People mingled there because they wanted sex or business connections. He liked the sound of parties that involved discussing the arts. "Not exactly my scene but it still sounds like a fabulous scene. Maybe I could come visit sometime? I could see one of your plays and judge if your New York art kid friends are pretentious in a good way or a bad way.” He knew it was just the grief talking. He was usually too wrapped up in his own life to reach out to the other wards. Though thankfully there was still time for him to make amends and reach out to them.

"I work in a creative field and make enough money for a house in Venice. Of course I like it." Did his life live up to the expectations he had as a kid? Absolutely not. As a teenager his dream future didn't involve being stuck in traffic every work day or writing one off episodes of teen dramas. But he was closer to his dream than most people got. He got to experience lavish parties and seeing his creations come to life. "Would I prefer to get less rejection emails? Yes but life goes on." he remarked with a shrug. It was easy to say that in hindsight. His initial reaction to rejection letters was to throw himself down on his sofa, sob and curse that exec's entire family line. "Though I'm sure you're probabaly no stranger to rejection emails either. After all, they're an occuptational hazzard in our line of work." He was hoping to commiserate with Eliza over something unrelated to Richard. But he couldn't picture her being rejected. There were countless theater actresses with doe eyes and an air of tragedy to them. But Eliza probably had the biggest eyes and most tragic air if Richard's favouritism was anything to go off.

River's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He couldn't understand how anyone could hate the beach. "The beach is a killer place to people watch. So many different kinds of people trying to have a good time. It's nice." he argued. As much as he loved being the centre of attention sometimes it was nice to sit back and observe. It gave him material for his scripts and reminded him that he existed and was a tangible part in other people's stories even though he preferred to be the main character. "You got me there. I can't be driving's defense lawyer." But driving was his favourite mode of transport bedside from rollerskating. When he drove he felt he had to worry less about something terrible going wrong. He didn't have to put his life in somebody else's hands and panic to the same extent as taking a train or plane. "Pathetic fallacy is for hacks." he stated, taking a drag from his cigarette. He neglected to mention he often used pathetic fallacy. "Plus, that's not the kind of pathetic fallacy I want in my life. Sadness should happen organically. It shouldn't be influenced by the weather." He remembered the repeated grey skies when he first moved to Woodrow.

River sighed deeply. "That was supposed to be my foray into horror. I'm not really a genre writer but I thought it would be interesting to use horror tropes as a metaphor for repressing a part of yourself. Then some dickhead producer came along and got two guys to completely change my script into a wacky horror comedy." he ranted before stopping to question if Eliza cared. He was too caught up in the lingering bitterness. "Weird how many of you stayed less than a four hour drive away when richard made sure that we had the entire world at our disposal." River couldn't judge ; he thought he would find fame and home in the city he was grew up in. "But it's nice that this place was never truly empty and he had Steph." It was hard to linger on his guilt when Eliza was pouting over Pop Tarts. He laughed gently. "The best I can do is macaroons." He gestured towards a tray of macaroons wrapped in cellophane.

"they're not that bad." she answered mildly, shrugging. hanging out with her colleagues felt a little bit like trying to fly alongside a flock of migratory birds of another species - you couldn't really tell the difference from a distance, but up close the outsider stood up clear as day. but eliza thought this was mostly her fault, and not theirs. "the parties are really cool. we drink laughable amounts of wine and fight about christopher marlowe... and there's always at least one musical person trying to start a sondheim sing-a-long. it's almost like high school cast parties." not that eliza had experienced many of those. she always preferred having a nice dinner at woodrow after shows rather than going out with the other theatre people.

river's answer about his job made her hum, turning around to stare at him with a questioning expression. "but do you like it? the job, LA..." she then shook her head with laughter, going back to exploring the cupboards. god why were there so many rice cakes... "i hate the beach and i hate driving. the sun is okay, but not all the time. i think you need horrible, stormy and gray weather sometimes, to feel a little sad." melancholia had always been comforting to her in a way, an old tethered blanket she held close and hid in from time to time. it made the soft smiles and calm mood easier to summon when needed. "c'mon, new york is fine." fine. this is how she had been describing most of her life, lately, but it still felt like the best word. wasn't that slightly pathetic? "i like the hustle and bustle, and the closeness of it all. it's like i can see a completely different world through every window." she had this one window neighbor who put red scarfs over every single one of her lamps. it made the apartment look like a flaming heaven from the outside.

"i don't think so, it was the one with a vampire and a werewolf. not really my thing but i liked it a lot." eliza's taste in film tended to gravitate between golden age technicolor pieces and sprawling period movies, preferably adapted from some book. she liked to watch fluffy, escapist stories, and reserved the more raw, complicated and negative emotions for the theatre. she would go insane if everything she watched was grotowski-esque. "aha! there we go!" she said happily, pulling a box of honey nut cheerios. that was the closest to junk food she would probably find in the house. "i know celia and alison do, probably because of the proximity. and well, me. but i think mrs. tristan would rather be caught dead than stock the pantry with pop tarts. even though i would really like a pop tart right now." she pouted slightly, focusing on ripping open the cheerios and eating a fistful of it directly from the box.

[riverbills]

River's eyebrows shot up in interest. "Oh wow, you can bake? That's cool." It made sense with the limited information he knew about Esti but the act of learning information about her surprised him. River sorted the wards into three categories ; family, friends and people who simply existed in the same space as him growing up. For no fault of her own Esti fell into the third category. As kids the two of them weren't compatible. But that was a long time ago and he learned how to connect with people he didn't share a ton of similarities with. “I would love to learn how to bake but I don't have the time or patience. I mainly just decorate the cakes my housemate Kari bakes. But she's going through a mousse phase right now so there's not much decorating I can do besides from adding fruit or petals." He rambled, playing with the pleather bracelets he put on after changing out of his funeral clothes. He didn't know if Esti wanted to hear his tangent but he loved the sound of his own voice and assumed she would prefer him to do the talking. "So, what do you bake? Are you a cookies or cake kind of gal." he asked with a slight shoulder shimmy. he assumed esti was a pastry kind of gal from the way she scoffed down the cream puff but it would give him a sense of satisfaction to hear her confirm his assumption.

Esti's anecdote about Mrs Tristan was sweet in a disgusting kind of way. It made the versions of them that existed in River's brain more three dimensional. "Maybe it's a good thing I always went straight to Angus when I was sick. If I was in your position I would have talked back or started crying." He had nothing against Mrs Tristan. It was just her style of firm but fair child rearing didn't work for him and let her everyone know including Mrs Tristan. "Though I'm glad she was there when you needed her. You seemed to get on better with her than I did." River remarked with a chuckle. It was probabaly easy to stay on Mrs Tristan's good side if you were quiet and well behaved. "Maybe she'd make an expection in this time of crisis." he remarked, knowing she wouldn't. He reached into the front pocket of his skinny jeans for his lighter. River snorted at ash and sadness. He didn't remember Esti being funny. "Hey, some people are fans of ash and sadness..."he went quiet when he realized the next sentence that popped into his brain (it makes them feel alive) wasn't appropriate the day of a funeral. "Or maybe they're all lying to hide the fact they're masochists." His eyes lit up at the mention of bubblegum. "You've got to tell me where you saw those. In the ranks of artifical flavours bubblegum is up there with cherry."

-— esti’s awkward demeanor doesn’t dissipate but it softens. this feels … normal. like a normal conversation, with a normal person who doesn’t hate her, which is kind of all she can ask for right now. it’s much better than what she expected, and in response river gets a soft smile. she holds up a finger as a way of saying ‘hold on’, because she’s still halfway through a cream puff and if being best friends with mrs. tristan growing up taught her anything, it was to use her manners. esti swallows, then, nodding, “ yeah — if I could live off of sweets i probably would, but that’s why i just learned to make my own stuff. no problems if i know exactly what i like. “ there’s something in there about her incessant need for control and things to be her way. she’ll think of that at a later date. esti’s smile turns fonder when she thinks of mrs. tristan, head shaking, “ oh — not nurturing at all, she scolded me while I puked. but it helped, and she kind of wrapped her arm around me in what could have been a hug after, so it was fine, you know? “ esti jokes, grabbing a cigarette for herself — she pulls her lighter out before chuckling a little, “ and she’d probably kill us for having these inside the house. you’re right, though — if nicotine just tasted like ash and sadness it wouldn’t be as nice. y’know i had bubblegum ones once? they’re awful. “

[riverbills]

River felt a lump in his throat. The normalcy of Mickey indulging in one of his silly made up scenarios made him more emotional than any of the grave conversations about their loss. For a brief moment joking with Mickey on the balcony made him feel like a kid again. But it wasn't just like the old days. Richard was gone and the sixteen wards he left behind had to deal with the aftermath. “I always knew there was life out there. The universe is way too big for there not to be life on other planets.” River said softly and with less enthusiasm than he usually would have while making a joke. In better circumstances he would have put on an exaggerated triumphant tone. “Other planets have water,right? And like whatever the alien equivalent of food is? I mean, they must become your alien friends are proof a planet has the alien version of food and water.” River's questions were genuine but he didn't really care. He just remembered that infodunmping about space used to cheer Mickey up when she was eleven. “Got it. I won't tell a soul.” he added before making a half-hearted lip zipping gesture.

“What? You don't see the parallels?” River asked before taking a drag of his cigarette.”I always did.” he added, wistfully. That was why he used to cry every time the younger wards watched Annie in the theater. Most people would have considered him too old to cry at Annie but seeing an orphan find a home with an eccentric millionaire struck a chord. “It was inevitable but it's still fucking awful.” River felt like his role at Woodrow used to be stating the obvious ; most of the other wards danced around the obvious because outright stating the obvious would reveal they had feelings.

“You will.” River assured Mickey. He wondered how he managed to survive living in a separate country to her.”You'll be the second person I thank as long as I'm not contractually obligated to thank other people first.” he said in an attempt to make her laugh and distrac himself from the fact the first person he would thank was in a coffin. “Oh please don’t speak that into existence. It’s way too cold for late night pond jumping.” he insisted with a pout. River was no stranger to making impulsive decisions for the sake of a good story but getting hyperthermia on the day of his former legal guardian’s funeral would cause the wrong kind of drama. "Course we have each other. You're my favourite sister ,who's a Canadian supergenius,." he wasn't the best person to lean on for emotional support but he would try.

mickey lets out a laugh at river's joke, an honest to god laugh. and it felt good, to joke around after everything that happened today. it almost made her want to cry again which was a confusing feeling, crying and laughing at the same time, but it felt nice. she thought about telling him the truth, but she was worried that the more people she told, the more real it all would become. "yeah, you caught me, we reached contact with aliens but if you tell anyone, the fbi will kill us both." it was kind of nice to joke around, though maybe that was just all the alcohol in her system speaking.

"daddy warbucks," mickey repeated with a laugh. okay maybe she really shouldn't be drinking. but this was serious so she tried to pull herself together. "no, but you're right. as sad as it is, he wasn't going to be around forever."

"hey, i mean it, and i better get a shout out in your acceptance speech," she teased a little, hoping to cheer river up a little. it was relieving to at least see someone else who was holding up about as good at mickey was. she knew everyone must be hurting, even reuben, but everyone else seemed to hold themselves together better than mickey. "well the night is still young, there might be some pond jumping before the end of it," she joked. "no, i'll be okay, and so will you. we have each other, right?"

[riverbills]

There was a period of River's life where running on a maximum of four hours sleep was the norm. In college he would come back from clubs he was lucky to get into at 3am, get 4 hours shut eye then power through his hangover with paracetamol and positive thinking. But River's days of functioning on four hours sleep were long gone (with the expectation of some extraordinary circumstances like Saturday). He had hoped to sleep into the early hours of the afternoon but he was woken up by Saskia pawing at his face. She was also meowing loudly ; it was like she was complaining about the various footsteps and voices outside of their room.

River investigated the noise after gently getting Saskia off him and forcing himself to stay awake. It turned out Mrs Tristan had a full itinerary scheduled for the week that started with a scavenger hunt. River couldn't tell if the itinerary was designed to keep the wars too productive to fall into despair or too productive to bother Mrs Tristan. It didn't matter either way because at least it was an engaging project. River didn't have a knack for puzzles but he enjoyed scavenger hunts as a concept. Participating in scavenger hunts made him feel like a noir detective and he knew there were something Richard enjoyed.

However, before he could decipher the first clue River needed coffee. He went to the kitchen. “Good morning.” he replied, the snarky to you too remained unsaid. He didn't feel like starting an argument with Reuben. He should have thanked him yesterday for making his eulogy look better in comparison and he was clearly grieving in his own way. At least River assumed he was grieving. He could never figure out what Reuben was feeling. “Nope. I haven't started yet. I love scavenger hunts as much as the next guy but I need to boot up my brain before I try deciphering any riddles.” he explained, as he pottered around the kitchen, finding his old mug and switching on the coffee machine. “What about you? Have you found any clues yet or did you have the same idea as me?”

🕑 DAY 1 — 09:47, MONDAY ☏ @woodrowhub | open to all

Scavenger hunt my ass. Reuben was never good at these sorts of thing. Always lagging behind others, maybe finding a clue but not knowing how to interpret it, only getting them when another ward would whisper the answer in his ear. He eventually turned his nose up at these sort of things, in the way only a teenager can, scoffs of annoyance, rolled eyes and decries of “I’m too old for this!” Though deep down getting even one clue would keep him satisfied for a lifetime. Maybe Mrs. Tristan would throw him a bone— unlikely.

He wanted to pretend to be disinterested, to seem like he was too grown up for such childish things but, it was cute that Richard wanted them all together again— it would’ve been nice to see him happy. Not to mention having everyone at Woodrow under better circumstances. He’s sat at the main kitchen counter, confusion knit between his brows as he taps the clue card against his hand. He would figure this out so help him god.

He jumps at someone else’s presence, quickly slipping the clue under his arm. He smiles sheepishly, “scavenger hunt,” he says drawing out the last syllables in a sing song.

“You find any yet?”

[riverbills]

Angus' international man of mystery act pulled a small smile out of River despite the situation. He wished the wards were having a family reunion of sorts because of more pleasant circumstances. He longed to gossip about the state of everyone's lives without feeling like there was a hole in his chest."Do you have an NDA that makes it illegal to discuss your salary or have you just never considered getting a gold lined briefcase so you can share cigars with your friends?" River inquired before finishing the mini quiche. He couldn't remember if he'd asked about Angus's work life balance before. It wasn't something that used to concern him. River took the cigar from Angus with a slight flourish of his hand."I don't but it will be have to do for now. You can give me another cigar later as interest." He commented as he carefully placed the cigar in his jeans' pocket. The cigar was a tight fit but he had stuffed enough things into the small pockets of that particular pair of low rise jeans to know how to angle objects the percise way to make them fit into the pocket. "So, how are you holding up? I would have asked you at the wake but you seemed to have your hands full with Roger Milton."

Angus plated the two slices of bread, then took the jam jar with a nod of thanks. "Call me cautious, but they sat in the sun far too long for me to want to risk it," Angus dismissed, his voice a little far away as he opened drawers searching for utensils. That was half the truth; he'd also grown accustomed to eating a specific sandwich, sometimes, when he felt—well, he supposed the closest word to the feeling was sentimental, though he wasn't very fond of it. Romanticism never did anyone much good. Just look at Keats. Angus would really rather focus on kitchen equipment and finding a jar of peanut butter. He knew the knives were kept in one of the few drawers to his left; pulling open one, and then a second, he finally saw them all. Neat and shiny, and lined up perfectly. Like always, Mrs. Tristan ran a tight ship down to the details. He took out two butter knives. River's incredulous tone made Angus nearly-smile out of view of the young man himself.

"You could be correct. Maybe they do," Angus started, then angled to face him again. He undid the buttons on his suit jacket, then tugged one side open to reach into a pocket sewed into the lining. He pulled out the cigar. It was really only a quarter-smoked and in fine enough shape. After his conversation with Reuben, and the subsequent brotherly punishment he found himself doling out, he didn't quite find the time to finish it off. "But this appears to be the only one I've got on hand." He held it out to River—to take as payment, or to look at as inspiration for more quick-witted observations about Angus' life. Either/or, he could usually stomach it from him. River's nature, though loud and dramatic, left Angus feeling a little generous as often as it annoyed. River was like a little brother, or perhaps an awful lot like a very specific one. "You don't think it's of equal value to the services rendered?"

[riverbills]

River lit the cigarette before responding to Eliza. He usually only received imports after mentioning Richard’s name to producers. So, he was going to savour the opportunity to smoke a fine cigarette with a herbal kick. Even though he was sure Mrs Tristan would somehow sense he was smoking in doors and scold him for it.“You're not spoiled. You're just a classy lady who knows she deserves the finer things in life. There's nothing wrong with that.” If they had this conversation when he was thirteen he would have twisted the knife ; would have made a snide remark about how she always got what she wanted. But the two of them weren't kids anymore. River’s jealousy died years ago and now Richard was dead too so any residual bitterness River felt about not being his favourite ward was pointless.

Growing up he had mixed feelings about Eliza's passion for performing. Eliza was proof that Richard's favouritism was arbitrary and decided for illogical reasons he couldn't control. She and River were both artsy theatrical kids but apparently she had a certain je ne sais quoi River lacked and couldn't achieve if he tried. That was both a frustrating and reassuring realisation to cope with. River's mouth twisted into a small exhausted smile at Eliza's comment about New York art kids. “What's it like dealing with the New York art kids? I've heard they're pretentious and obsessed with a sense of authenticity they'll never achieve. Is that true?” He asked. He moved to LA for school and never looked back. His primary experience of New York Art Kids came from a production of RENT he saw a week before his twenty-second birthday.

River let out a hollow chuckle at Eliza's words. There were parts of his life that were stable but he still didn't feel like a real adult. He definitely didn't feel like a real adult in Woodrow. “Oh please, I surf IMDB then flatter actors by telling them I knew they had potential when I saw them play an unnamed bully stock character. That's hardly a real adult job. It's not like I'm debating international policy.” It didn't sound like it but River was grateful for his frivolous job. He couldn't handle having a job that was monotonous and significant.

River let out another laugh at Eliza's questions. He didn't remember her being this funny. Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse not to feel miserable.He was always looking for an excuse to talk about himself so he was grateful she asked multiple questions at once.“Yup. I haven't had to give up on my dream yet, knock on wood.” River reached over to tap on the kitchen counter. He wasn't particularly superstitious but he wasn't going to risk tempting fate.”Here's a secret the mayor doesn't want you to know; LA isn't as hot as you'd imagine. Your brain just tricks itself into thinking it's hot because it's sunny and in theory it's convenient to go to a beach.” River had been in LA long enough to stop romanticising it but he would never stop romanticising the lack of rain. “It depends on if you find being stuck in traffic for two hours and having people who were in one season of days of our lives twenty years ago cutting in line for coffee dazzling.” His fond tone and small smile were in contrast to his sardonic words. LA was a cutthroat town where dreams went to die but it was also his home. “It is slightly miserable but it can't be more miserable than New York.” Everyone he knew who had worked in New York complained about the rent prices and lack of space. But lucky for Eliza she didn't have to worry about one of those things.

He almost dropped his cigarette when she said she saw one of his movies at the video store. “Are you being serious? I'm having a horrendous day ; you can't joke about something like that.” River had only managed to sell two scripts that were made into complicated movies. It was rare for producers to take a chance on scripts they didn't view as instantly profitable. Often River's ideas were about niche subject matter or made more sense on an emotional level than a narrative level. “I hope it had a girl chasing after a tour bus on the cover. That movie is my magnum opus.” His other movie was a low budget horror comedy about a married couple inconveniently turning into a werewolf and vampire at the same time. The studio ignored that it was an obvious metaphor for a lavender marriage. He stood in confusion while Eliza rummaged for Goldfish Crackers. It took him a second to work out why she was avoiding the buffet. River came to the conclusion she wanted comfort food over food from the funeral. “I'm not sure.” He responded while walking over to join Eliza on her search. “Do you know who visits regularly? They're probably too sophisticated for Goldfish Crackers. It can't hurt to check though. Mrs Tristan might have a secret fondness for them we don't know about.”

“i guess i am a bit spoiled.” she said, trying for humor but sounding contrived. unlike most other wards, she didn’t have any real memories of a life before woodrow, and all the luxuries that came with it. eliza never really considered herself more spoiled than any of the other however, a feeling she knew would be heavily contested. “but the new york art kids are really serious about their tobacco. if you don’t smoke with style they would probably say you shouldn’t smoke at all.” she took one of the cigarettes and played with it around her fingers, twirling and twisting with and odd grace. “hmm networking. it makes you sound so grow up.” she laughed hollowly. they were all grown. for the better or for the worse.

“you’re in la, right? is it as hot and dazzling and slightly miserable as i remember?” eliza was an east coast girl through and through, and her few memories of california were not very flattering. she once got a sunburn so bad at santa monica it landed her at the hospital. not her finest moment. “i saw one of your movies at the video shop the other day. it looked cool. artsy.” finally growing tired of playing with the cigarette, eliza abandoned it and her glass of whiskey, jumping off the counter and coming closer to investigate the remains of the buffet. the baked meats that coldly furnished the funeral table, her brain supplied, making her stomach churn immediately. so instead of looking at the food, she started opening cupboards. "do you think they still store goldfish here?"

[riverbills]

River's lips curled into a small smile when he realized the other person in the kitchen was Angus. Growing up he never considered him a friend. Angus was too old and stern to be his friend. But he appreciated how he was always willing to listen to his dramatized recounts of the latest gossip in his grade and give him advice (even though Angus’ advice often didn't apply to him). As he grew up he realized that he was playing into whatever big brother martyr complex Angus had. But he didn't mind because that worked for him as well. At least it suited him when Angus’ advice wasn't unsolicited and the opposite of what he wanted to hear.

River raised an eyebrow at Angus’ order. “Are you sure you don't want any of the hors d'oeuvres instead?” He asked as he reached over to offer him the jam jar. Sure, the traditional point of a midnight snack was to be light but he couldn't imagine somebody who worked in politics eating a jam sandwich. Hors d'oeuvres were light and seemed more suited to people who worked in pompous important industries. “A half smoked cigar?” River repeatedly incredulously. “I assumed Washington would pay you enough money to have a gold briefcase full of spare cigars just in case somebody asked to borrow one.” When they were kids it seemed like Angus had anything he could ask for on hand at all times.

It wasn't until the timepiece on his wrist told him it was past 10:30 PM that Angus realized he hadn't eaten anything since that morning. He had tried to pick at the hors d'oeuvres that Mrs. Tristan had so painstakingly chosen, but his stomach couldn't handle it. It felt unsteady all day—in an old, familiar way. And now it clenched in on itself, threatening something unsightly if he didn't get something into it soon. God help him, he'd choke down a few single slices of that damned Ezekiel bread if it would get the job done.

It didn't shock him that someone was already in the kitchen. He felt 18 again, constantly stumbling over someone else's toes in a house the size of a museum. He experienced a sharp, sudden ache in his head when he heard River's voice. Not an unwelcome addition to his late-night snacking but a promise that things might get very loud, very soon. Angus stepped around River and toward the bread box on the counter. He clapped a hand on his shoulder as he went, a brief greeting, and effectively hid his face at the proposed exchange of goods. Quiche, for heaven's sake. He entertained very unkind thoughts about milk, cheese, and the entire country of France.

"No dice. Pass me the jam and I'll give you a half-smoked cigar," Angus offered instead, sliding open the bread box and finding the two stale heels of a loaf. That would get the job done, he thought begrudgingly, and made a grab for them.

[riverbills]

River raised an eyebrow at the word stuff. The cagier Mickey acted the curiouser he became. He was a gossip at heart. Plus, he didn't view her as a secretive person. He viewed her as somebody who wore her heart on her sleeve and was unable to keep secrets. Plus, he couldn't imagine her having anything to hide. In his head she was too sweet to have any dark secrets or purposefully hurt anyone. To him she was an open book and that book was doe eyed and enthusiastic about space. But as much as he wanted to he wasn't going to push her on the suject. Whatever she was hiding was her personal information to keep. Though he hoped she would tell him eventually. "I'm just going to assume by stuff you mean top secret info about aliens that you can't tell me otherwise the Canadian government would kill you."

River nodded along as Mickey spoke. For once letting her speak without making what she was saying about him. "I get what you mean." He couldn't imagine most of the other words sharing their opinion of Richard's mortality but him and Mickey had always been more sentimental than most of the others."I knew he wasn't above...dying but it felt like he was. When I was younger he was like a superhero to me or maybe Daddy Warbucks. Yeah he was definitely more of a Daddy Warbucks." He mused, chuckling at how incoherent his rambling was. However, there was probabaly some truth in the idea that if his life was a Hollywood movie or soap opera getting fostered by a kindly millionaire genius with a giant estate would have been the ending instead of the begining of a tumultuous new chapter.

River's mouth curved into a smile at Mickey's words of encouragement. It was the largest smile he cracked since hearing about Richard's death. "Stop it you're going to make me cry again." He whined, giving her a light nudge. The wards weren't tecnically his family but some of them felt more like his family than anyone he was biologically related to who. "You're probably sick of me crying. Even I'm sick of me crying." He proclaimed, giving his cigarette a slight shake for emphasis. He had always considered his emotionality a strength but in that moment he was exhausted by his strong feelings .He wished he could turn off his grief. "From where I'm standing it seems like you're doing a pretty good job at holding it together. You haven't thrown yourself into the pond or told the whole world Richard was a terrible guardian so you could be doing worse."

"no, it's nothing, just stuff back home," she says with a wave of her hand before taking a hit of her own cigarette. she didn't want river to feel guilty for stepping out to her but she also wasn't sure if she was ready to talk about it. maybe if she kept drinking, but right now, she was sure she would break down and cry if she had to talk about it. though, she'd probably cry no matter what. mickey was a bit of a hopeless romantic and, as far as she knew, she was the only ward who ended up in a committed relationship. maybe because of how they were raised and how they all lost their families in various was made them all so avoidant to relationships. maybe that's why mickey wasn't good in one either.

"amen to that," mickey said with a chuckle. thankfully her own tears have stopped thanks to her siblings distractions. she was sure it would start again once she was alone, maybe reece would let her crash in her room or something. she focused on river instead, giving him the attention her deserves to let out his feelings. "the thing is, i was surprised. i don't know why, because you're right, he wasn't young. but i dunno, i just didn't think it would ever happen." it probably made her sound stupid to say. the man was in his seventies after all. her own mom died of the same thing when she was only thirty. people die every day. "well, when you get that emmy, we'll be here to support you and i'm sure richard would be proud." though, who knows where they will all end up after this week. mickey wasn't even sure if she would be welcomed back home. "well, i'm not crying," she repeated river's own sentiment. "i don't know, it's a lot to deal with but i'm trying."