Cups were not supposed to float – she knew physics, held its mysteries like the intimate correspondence of a first real love – and River tracked its progress warily at first, circling around to inspect from other angles, to see if she could divine what force kept it in mid-air. It defied her scrutiny, and that in itself was refreshing (and slightly scary… but the thrilling sort, the sort that comes just before you jump into a deep, clear pool). Her response was distracted, her attention on the cup, her words tripping out languid and unguarded as she poked tentatively at the gravity-defying teacup.
“Selfish is what it is. Should be grateful. Made her strong, made her see things no one else can, know things no one else knows, hear secrets, spot weak points. And she wants to throw that all away because it’s difficult” The scorn flavouring that word wasn’t her own, but Jacen had never known Dr. Mathias and couldn’t be expected to recognise the last petulant whispers of a dead man who hadn’t yet been born.
… and as quickly as the dark spell had come it was gone, and she’d delicately plucked the cup from the air and dropped to sit, cross-legged, on the floor, cupping it in her hands where it seemed impossibly big – or her hands impossibly small, whichever – enjoying the gentle warmth seeping through and taking small sips.
She frowned - almost childishly – at his question, the answer taking some time to properly form before she settled, matter-of-fact, on “Because they miss so much.”