(This takes place AFTER this
Wash walked slowly along his ever-changing trek. He smiled and nodded to the Greys
(as he'd come to call them) that he recognized from other parts of The City. Most people, he found, did not arrive un-expectedly. Those who ran small shops, grocery stores, who were walking on streets as if just to provide aesthetic rather than having a purpose to be there weren't from another universe. They were here, just here. And speaking with them about anything too deep could be infuriating.
Add to that, the Greys seemed to have no distinct personality, to him. That's not to say they weren't nice. But the nicety didn't seem genuine. Or they were very static in their emotional state. They were two dimensional characters that seemed only to have a ghost of a life and sparse, if any, back story.
But they did tend to have a memory of him. So he stayed genial with them. As long as they stayed away from sucking his brains out, he was alright with their existence, mostly. Though he found they creeped him out more than a little.
Wash held a bag of groceries in his hand and let the plastic sack swing listlessly as he passed buy a broad building that he only paid attention to enough to avoid running into. He rubbed his eyes, red from too little sleep, and was about to clear the corner when a poster, quite literally (and he would swear up and down that it had) attacked him.
The thick paper smacked him in the face rendering him blind for a second as he grappled with the formerly stapled banner with a curse of annoyance.
He held it out at arms length and squinted at it. It was some fancy ballet flyer. Little girl on the front, it looked. Very familiar looking little girl at that. She was dressed mighty pretty and seemed quite sane in the picture. Nah, couldn't be River then.
But emblazoned at the top was "River Tam".
"Wo bu shin wo dah yan jing!
," Wash said. And he DIDN'T believe his eyes. He especially didn't believe them when he looked up at the wall the poster had come from and found more tiny Rivers dancing on the front of them.
Following the row of posters to a side door he put a tentative hand up to it. It was ajar. He pushed it gently and peeked inside. His hand was still gripping the first poster he saw, plastic bag of fruit around his wrist, and blue eyes wide eyed at the backstage area he was suddenly inhabiting, he walked softly following music from behind the closed curtain in front of him.
He pushed aside the thick velvety curtain on stage left and peeked to who was dancing there, eyes blinking.