hell_in_highheels: (mouthful smirk)
Oh, River is not a morning person, but this prank requires some dedication and preparation.  She has her sonic screwdriver set to wake her an hour before the alarm, and she'd packed the blanket and the picnic basket the afternoon before while he was out running.

The matter of the prank itself is a simple few moments with the screwdriver on the red setting.  Quick.  Harmless.  And best of all, reversible. 

She still expects to get a bit of a hiding for it, but he did throw down the gauntlet.  Her cheeks ache from grinning at the very thought of the look on his face when he figures out just what she'd done.

Prank accomplished, she slips into her boots and shushes Damocles, swearing him to silence.  Rather, bribing him with future promises of bacon.  She leaves the note on the pillow and catches herself just before she kisses him on the cheek.  If he wakes, the surprise will be ruined before she can make her escape. 

Dear Richard~

Have been kidnapped by rabbits.  They said something about their pelts being used for "unseemly" purposes. Their leader says, if you ever want to see me again, come alone.

(crudely drawn map of the lake side and the meadow with an X)


hell_in_highheels: (working)
River paces the length of her office. 

Inside, there is bright sun shining down from the ceiling of the solarium.  The lighting in her office tends to be rather cheery as well.  But beyond the window seat, where she loves to sit and read for hours the story is different.  Outside the bay window, the ocean is dark and turbulent, the skies gun metal grey.  Stormy seas for stormy thoughts, CAL used to say.  Now, it is just a fact.  When River is discontent, the water shows it.

She has a wall cleared for research and she's muttering to herself as she walks the length of the carpet and back again.

"Give me everything we know about lycanthrope species catalog number 1010."

Files start flying up from the background, the pale blue light of the terminal casting a glow over her cheeks as she stares.  Her hand reaches out to touch an image and drag it to the foreground.  The transformed lycanthrope image taken at an undisclosed location in the Scottish Highlands, Earth, circa early twenty first century.  It was a file she'd gathered from the bar feeds, Richard's timeline.

She taps a corner and the image becomes three dimensions.  She spins it in place, the off camera bits filling in with extrapolated data.

"This one is male. Do you have an image of a female?"

The computer shuffles through a handful of images and offers a few as most likely to match criteria.  She snags an image.

The selected candidate is a dark grey, with white on her muzzle. She stands almost 2.5 metres tall, according to the read out.  Her features are more refined than her male counterpart, her body more lithe, though just as well-muscled.  River can just see the barest hint of a shadow on the image, two pairs of extra nipples running down either side of the torso.  Claws just as long and sharp, and a mouthful of formidable looking teeth. 

She spins the image again, her brow furrowed in thought.  Not something she'd care to run into in the forest after dark.  Outside, the wind batters against the window panes.  The water is pounding the rocks below and huge plumes of salt spray reachfor the heavens.

What does she know?  Increased metabolism (hungry all the time).  Enhanced hearing, enhanced sense of smell (oh to smell everything so deeply).  Ability to read emotions. (to read the lies) Oh and the ability speak with canine intelligences.  And an unbreakable, unavoidable connection to the lunar phase of what ever planet one is on.  A violent physical transformation.  A blood thirsty physical counterpart.

It is the wild aspect of the whole thing that terrifies her. The idea that she must give up her intellect, give up her reason, to run and hunt and kill and feast. 

It terrifies and thrills her simultaneously.

It's wrong to even think of this, part of her screams. 
It was forced upon him, a curse, not a gift. 
Could he live with you knowing that you had a choice where he did not? 
Could he look at you every day and know that you could undo it? 

Surely there's a way to undo it for him as well. 
But would he?  Would he even consider it? 
I don't believe he would, not for a moment. 
It is a part of who he is. 
He is as much wolf as he is man. 

Only because that is how I have known him since the beginning. 
These are the real questions I must answer. 
Not whether or not to undergo this transformation,
but where it would leave the two of us, on the other side.

River spins the image again, looking into the golden eyes of the creature. 

To be able to taste his scent, to drown in it. 
Wouldn't that be a gift? 
Wouldn't he want that for me? 
For us?

Why don't you ask him, River?

Why don't you just talk to him about this?

I can't lose him. 
I won't do anything to jeopardise what we have.
Can I live with the status quo?

She pulls back up the image of the male, his coat black as coal, his gaze turned away from the piercing flash of the camera.  Gore drips from the creature's jaws.  Human blood, if the reports are to be believed.

if it means having him by my side.
My love, my mate.

hell_in_highheels: (looking down)
She watches as he gets dressed to go running. 

A sleepy hand steals out to the night stand to thread a finger through the chain of his dog tags.   They jangle together quietly in her hands. Two round discs, one on a long chain, the other threaded through a smaller chain hanging off the main necklace.   In the light of the lamp, she finds the clasp of the smaller chain and undoes it, closing it again once it's free.

He bends his head to give her a kiss good bye, and she slips the long chain with its solitary dog tag around his neck.  It's quiet without its mate to jangle against.  He looks down at it and back at her, puzzled.

She holds up her hand, the liberated tag looped over her index finger.  She closes her fingers around it and smiles at him drowsily as she pulls her hand back beneath the covers.

He grins down at her, shaking his head.  He presses another kiss to her forehead before he goes.

She falls asleep, the metal warming quickly against her skin.

~ mated ~

hell_in_highheels: (full moon)
It's still dark when she wakes, but dawn is already lightning the sky.  She dresses in long skirts, her favourite wool sweater, and her grey woollen shawl.  And her field boots.  The lakeside is rocky, and they're practical.

She makes her way down the stairs to the bar, not really surprised to see a others who are still awake from the previous evening's carousing.  She doesn't pause to socialise.  She makes her way out the back and down the path to the lakeside, her eyes on the tree line.  She walks the shore, rubbing her arms against the chill, putting more and more distance between herself and the bar.

This time it is she who is searching for him in the mist.

He told her not to come after him when the moon was up.  But it had set hours ago.  The sun was almost over the ridge. 
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
She started as soon as he left, working through the afternoon and into night.  Bar was very accommodating, and seemed to take a bit of enjoyment out of her list of possible ideas.

They started with the basic floor plan.  An open floor plan, doubling the size of the flat.  Ceilings pushed to twelve feet, harsh edges softened with a gentle organic line.  For the floors, a beautiful dark hardwood.   Hand hewn beams for the four massive columns (cover, not just concealment) that marked the corners of the living area, with the fireplace at the focal point.  Persian rugs in reds and golds, and a proper seating area, leather couches, overstuffed and deep.  A low table (more surfaces for books).

The picture window grew and curved outward to become a window seat big enough for both of them to stretch out in at the same time.  Curtains and cushions all a palette of dark greens, the walls in a warm ivory.  Art would come later, she thought.

A kitchen with a table and two chairs, ample counter space to cook.  She thinks about the fact that she hasn't cooked in ages, and how nice it would be to cook for the two of them.  And friends even.

In a smaller but still open alcove beyond the main room, she places a broader bed on a low heavy platform, also in dark wood.  Big enough for two people and a large dog.  The requested dressers on each side of the bed.  An oval free-standing long mirror .  A bathroom with two sinks, a shower and a large clawfoot tub (Are those wolf paws?) tucked into a niche.

Back in the main room, bookshelves along one wall.  She pondered that for awhile.  They can always add more if they need them.

About two o'clock in the morning, Bar refuses to rearrange the rugs again.  Yes, you're right, she thinks. Time for sleep.


She woke at their usual time and it took a moment to remember why the other side of the bed was cold and empty.  She showered quickly and dressed, thinking she'd go down and eat something.   She ended up sitting in the picture window, looking out over the lake, into the forest beyond, wondering where he was.  She drew the shawl around her and picked up a book (William Blake, today).

It wasn't long before she was dozing sitting up.

hell_in_highheels: (talking)
What is the distance between one's old life and one's new life?  In truth, two days.  Four weeks is the distance between galaxies, she thinks.  She thinks of her life before Milliways and it seems a thing that happened to someone else. 

She is so wrapped up in the wonder of it all, it takes her a week to notice that her door is back.  She rises early and there is a delicious soreness in her muscles from their exertions.  She lays in bed and reads while he runs, shifting over onto his side of the bed, stealing the last of his warmth from the sheets. 

She asks Bar for an orchid, something with a gentle fragrance that won't assault his sensibilities.  She brings it home (home) and asks his opinion.   He starts out scenting the orchid and ends up with his nose buried in her hair, nuzzling the nape of her neck.  She laughs, begging him to let her find a place for it.  He takes it from her and sets it on the windowsill before sweeping her into his arms.  It's still there, and quite content.

She wears turtle necks all the time now. 
I wear your mark in my skin.

At night, she sleeps with her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.  Drifting up through the layers of consciousness, she listens to the even sound of his breath against her ear.  Even in his sleep, his fingertips draw lazy circles on her stomach, testing the limits of her restraint.  Some nights, she breaks far too easily, and he complains not in the least.

She wants to watch the sun setting on the lake.  He tells her he'll meet her in a few minutes, and she precedes him out the back door of the bar.  She is standing on the lakeshore, her hands rubbing her upper arms against the chill when he wraps the grey shawl around her shoulders.  It isn't as warm as he is, but it does quite nicely nonetheless.

She peppers him with questions constantly, and he answers them as best he can, turning them back to her on occasion, and she also answers, as best she can.  They talk about a thousand and one things, and each question leads to another and another.  They spend days learning about one another.

She hasn't told him about @ yet.  She thinks when the time is right, she'll know.  She doesn't want to abuse his trust, but neither does she want him to think she's only with him while she's waiting for someone else.  Because that is the farthest thing from the truth.  

She is with him.  There is nothing else  in her world that she knows to be true anymore but that one simple fact.   She belongs to him.  And he belongs to her.  

The rest will sort itself out, one way or another.
hell_in_highheels: (you're full of it)
(The Doctor wakes up to find himself handcuffed and River preparing to hook herself into the mainframe)
The Doctor: Oh no, no, no! Come on, what are you doing? That's my job!
Professor River Song: Oh, and I'm not allowed to have a career, I suppose?
The Doctor: Why am I handcuffed? Why do you even have handcuffs?
Professor River Song: (grinning) Spoilers.
The Doctor: This is not a joke. Stop this now! This is going to kill you! I'd have a chance, you don't have any!
Professor River Song: You wouldn't have a chance and neither do I! I'm timing it for the end of the countdown. There'll be a blip in the command flow. That way it should increase our chances of a clean download.
The Doctor: River, please, no!
Professor River Song: Funny thing is, this means you've always known how I was going to die. All the time we've been together, you knew I was coming here. The last time I saw you- the real you, the future you, I mean- you turned up on my doorstep with a new haircut and a suit. You took me to Verilian to see the singing towers. What a night that was. The towers sang and you cried. You wouldn't tell me why, but I suppose you knew it was time. My time. Time to come to the Library. You even gave me your screwdriver. That should have been a clue. There's nothing you can do.
The Doctor: You can let me do this!
Professor River Song: If you die here, it'll mean I've never met you!
The Doctor: Time can be rewritten.
Professor River Song: Not those times. Not one line. Don't you dare! It's OK. It's OK. It's not over for you. You'll see me again. You've got all of that to come. You and me, time and space. You watch us run.
The Doctor: River, you know my name. You whispered my name in my ear. There's only one reason I would ever tell anyone my name. There's only one time I could…
Professor River Song: Hush now. Spoilers.

Professor River Song: (voice-over) Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days, nobody dies at all. Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days when the wind stands fair and the Doctor comes to call, everybody lives.

Professor River Song: (voice-over) When you run with the Doctor, it feels like it will never end. But, however hard you try, you can't run forever. Everybody knows that everybody dies, and nobody knows it like the Doctor. But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark if he ever, for one moment, accepts it.
hell_in_highheels: (full moon)
Day 1: Full moon tomorrow night.

He looked at me over breakfast. There was a wildness and a longing in his eyes, but I cannot say whether it was for me or for some other place, some other life.

He pressed his cheek to mine for a long moment before kissing me once, so briefly, and then he was gone. I wanted to follow him, like Damocles tight at his heels. My heart was in my throat as I watched the lakeside door close behind him.

He didn't look back.

I think I'm most glad of that. I wouldn't want him to see the tears on my cheeks.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950), Letters
Day 2: Full moon tonight.

I can't eat. My mouth has no use for food.

I drink tea because I have always drank tea, even in the machine, when food held no purpose.

I miss that damned Doberman, too.

Gods, I hope he's okay.

My thoughts are my company; I can bring them together, select them, detain them, dismiss them.
~ Walter Landor (1775 - 1864)
Day 3: Full moon just gone.

Last day...

He's done this for two years without me sitting here waiting for him. This is just the way of things.

This is how it will be every month for the rest of my days, if I stay with him.

I can do this. This is nothing compared to 37,000 cycles as a data ghost. This is nothing compared to meeting @ again and having him not recognise me. This is a piece of cake.

He will be tired when he gets home, I imagine. A hot bath and a massage maybe. Sleep, I suspect, and well earned.

I will watch him sleep with a full heart.
To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be.
~Anna Louise Strong

hell_in_highheels: (looking down)
[ from here ]


She just needed a little breathing room, and time to think. He made it very difficult to focus on practicalities. Seemed he had only to quirk an eyebrow at her, and her heart went all pitter pat. Stuff and nonsense. She was a grown woman, not some lovesick school girl.

Oh but she was smitten.

Hence the need for space. A little air around the situation, give the pheromones and endorphins a chance to clear. She could make decisions when her head was clear. She'd retreated to the bar's library, intent on getting some work done. She had no idea what was here and now was the perfect time to look.

She'd played this game once before and lost. No, he had been too much to keep. She'd known that from the very beginning. And it hadn't stopped her then either.

This thing with Richard felt different. Stronger somehow, though she'd thought her marriage would last. Stronger than even that. It felt... permanent. Which again, nonsense. She'd only just met him.

Oh but she knew. She knew in her heart. This was something unique. For both of them.

What are you afraid of, River?

Losing him. Having my heart broken again.

Didn't stop you before, why should it stop you now?

I don't know if I could survive another loss.

Nonsense.  He's not the air in  your lungs.  Nor is he the checksum on your file integrity.

He's more than that, isn't he? He's a force of nature.

He's a man. There are plenty of those running around here, if you hadn't noticed.

He's not just a man. 

Oh, the werewolf thing you mean.  Is it your curiosity that drives this fascination?

No, he's not the first non-human I've met.  Don't be ridiculous.

So what is it then? What is it about him that has you so disconcerted?

He's–  Just–

What?  Go on, spit it out.

River closed her book with a frown.  She'd missed both lunch and dinner, and realised if she went to him now, she'd never leave.  She thought maybe The Library could cool the rush in her blood. 

She'd be back, after a time. Tomorrow at the latest.  It was almost midnight when she stood in the bar, looking at the blank space where her door had been.

Some decisions, if left long enough, will be made for you.
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
"All human wisdom is summed up in two words - wait and hope."
~ Alexandre Dumas Père
"Time cools, time clarifies; no mood can be maintained quite unaltered through the course of hours."
~ Mark Twain

hell_in_highheels: (looking down)
It is the passion that is in a kiss that gives to it its sweetness; it is the affection in a kiss that sanctifies it.
~ Christian Nevell Bovee
Rest in reason; move in passion.
~ Khalil Gibran
Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what he loves.
~Blaise Pascal

hell_in_highheels: (looking down)
We are wiser than we know.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
There is no remedy for love but to love more.
~Henry David Thoreau

hell_in_highheels: (Default)
The Library, Day 121, Post Mortem: Well, that lasted longer than I expected. 

The team, and I use that word lightly, has decided to forego any further structured exploration of our virtual environment, in lieu of pursuing individual priorities.  Strackman Lux is no where to be found.  His interest in the more prurient subject matter in the Library discourages me from investigating his whereabouts any further.

And I have been relieved of any further responsibilities, as there is no one to report our progress to. 

Dr. Moon has informed me that CAL is tracking their discrete information signals, and that they are all in good health.

It's like that pub question.  You have all the time in the world.  What subject do you study?  I think I'll start with Artificial Intelligence and Data Storage, and go from there.

The Library, Day 839, Post Mortem:
I saw Anita today.  I tried to speak to her, but she appeared to be in some kind of trance.  CAL informs me that her data ghost has not undergone any degradation so there's that at least.  She's the first I've seen of them since we split.

I've learned how to work with CAL to manipulate my environment.  She's most eager to please when she has someone to interract with.  We've agreed that smash cuts are disturbing, and that I should take in my days one minute at a time, even the boring ones.  (More time for reading that way.)  She's also agreed to allow me my office spaces.  She has been very respectful about only appearing in the corridor and knocking to request entrance.

It's a clever ruse, of course.  She is still very much a child, in that she has no idea what to do with adult emotions.  It disturbs her greatly to see me crying, so I try to keep it to myself.  But then, she can see everywhere and can not bring herself to leave me alone when I'm having a bit of difficulty.

She was the one who located the historical recordings of the Doctor for me.  At first, I was thrilled.  Now, I find I must save them, ration them carefully.

I have no idea when or even if my data signal will begin to degrade, but if it's a long time from now, I will need to keep myself from gorging on all of his records.  He seems to recognise me, but then, that also seems to be a function of the recording.  Some days it helps.  Some days it only makes it worse.

The Library, Day 6815, Post Mortem: I discovered something very interesting by accident today.

I am apparently double archived.  This came as a great relief as I'd been studying a fictional account of one of the larger sauropods in the Terran timeline, and he decided I would make a tasty snack.  Nothing like this has ever happened here before. I shall have to blame Arthur Conan Doyle and remember to be more careful in future.

Let us never speak of it again.

hell_in_highheels: (Default)
"Returning acquisition noted.  Hallo River."

"Hello CAL.  Come here and give us a hug!"  River bent and opened her arms wide.

The young girl smiled broadly, a child again for a moment, and dashed the length of the room into River's waiting arms.

"Mmm, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, River.  There's no one here to read me bed time stories when you're gone."

"What?  Won't Miss Evangelista read to you anymore?"

CAL looked chagrined for a moment.  "I didn't ask."

River cocked an eyebrow at the young girl. "CAL, you should ask her.  I can't be here every night to read to you."

"Why not?"

River sighed, tilting her head to one side.  "Because I just can't."

"You've been staying at Milliways."

"I have."

"You like it better there than here."

"It's not that, CAL.  It's just different.  I've been here a very long time and different is a good thing."

CAL didn't even attempt to hide her pout.  "You like Captain Ryan better than you do me."

River's brow furrowed in a moment of confusion and a touch of anger.  "CAL, that's really beneath you.  You know I love you.  You know how much you mean to me."

CAL studied the tips of her shoes.  "I'm sorry."

"As well you should be.  Come here."  River hugged the girl tight against her chest, smoothing her hair, and CAL held on just as tightly.  "Now you know you have no reason to be jealous."

"He's very handsome, isn't he?"

River leaned back, her hands still holding CAL's arms as she smirked and raised a single eyebrow.


"He is.  Very handsome indeed."  River's smirk blossomed into a broad grin.

"Have you told the Doctor yet?"

No one in the Universe could sucker punch quite like CAL could, River thought.  The words felt like a flat hand strike to her solar plexus.  All the wind went out of her.  After a moment, she brushed a strand of hair back from CAL's eyes.  "You know, I haven't."

Intellectually, River knew that CAL knew the location of every volume, and thus would know the location of her husband's historical records.  On the days when the loneliness got to be too much for her to bear, she'd go and talk to him, though it hurt to do so, because it wasn't really him.  It was a construct, like every other historical person in the library.  But he was still a friend to her, in many ways.  She hadn't been to see him since she'd discovered the door to Milliways.  It felt too much like saying goodbye, and they'd agreed never to do that.

"Don't be sad, River."  CAL hugged River close again.

River sighed, hugging the child back and stroking her hair.  "It's all right, CAL.  If we were never sad, how would we know how good it was to be happy, hmm?"

"I don't know about that.  Better just not to be sad."  CAL released her hold on River and danced away, smiling again.  "I brought you more books.  This time on shape shifters! And wolf pack behaviour and gravitational psychology and folklore and oh I found you one on the best cocktails in the known universe!"

River stood up and laughed, following the girl as she lead her to the huge new stack of books on her library table.  

"Are you done with all of these?"  CAL pointed to the teetering stack at the far end of the table.  Twentieth century military history, mostly.

All grim and hard to read, but necessary, River thought.  "Yes, I'm done with those.  Oh wait, hold on."  River made sure to pull out the one green leather bound book, and hold it back.  The faded silver letters on the cover read Reserva Biológica Bosque Nuboso Monteverde.

She absentmindely clutched it to her chest and nodded, watching as CAL vanished the volumes back to their place in the virtual library. 
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
She's fallen asleep in the chair in front of the fire and the memory of his face follows her down.  The basso profundo rumble of his voice vibrates in her chest, the small smile at the corner of his mouth making her breath come a little faster.

In the manner of dreams, she's standing in the middle of her solarium, surrounded by her plants, dappled sunlight falling on the packed dirt floor beneath her feet. 

He's here too, standing behind her.  She is tall for a woman, but he is taller.  She can feel his presence, his gravitas, standing half in shadow, half in forge light.  She wants to turn and look but she does not. If she is to have any hope at all, she must trust him. 

She closes her eyes and listens.  He's pacing in languid steps, circling her, scenting the air around her.  She stands and waits.  No, it's not the air he's scenting. 

He's scenting her. 

He's at her right shoulder, moving to stand before her.  If she reached out a hand, she could touch him.  He leans close, into her personal space, and inhales, drawing in her scent.  Closer still, so close she can feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. 

Her heart is in her throat.  She is the rabbit and he the fox.  No, her dreaming mind corrects.  He is the Wolf.  Even with this knowledge, every inch of skin on her body is alive, aching for want of his touch.

He draws away and she cannot help the quiet whimper that slips passed her lips. 

He puts space between them, creates distance.  He moves to her left, and circles around again.  She counts the heartbeats, straining to hear him.  She gasps as he steps in close, just behind her.  His breath disturbs the fine hairs on the nape of her neck, moves to the hollow beneath her ear.  She can feel the delicious weight of his presence. 

She lifts her chin and tips her head to the right, baring her throat to him.

He growls, quiet and low, a hungry sound.  She feels him draw closer still, feels the heat of his breath feathering over her skin, marking the curve of her throat.  He inhales her scent deeply.  She does not flinch away, does not move a muscle, though she is torn between fleeing and leaning into him.

There can be no doubt in his mind that she wants him.

She dares to shift her weight toward him.  He draws away but not entirely.  She can almost feel the brush of his lips over her jugular.  Her pulse pounds in her ears.

He purrs, the sound just next to her ear.  She shivers.  He does not move.  He breathes and she is transfixed.

Someone drops a tray and she awakens with a start.  She is back in her chair in front of the fire, the ache still sharp in her skin.  She stares into the fire, hugging her arms tight across her chest, trying to hold onto the fleeting moment even as it dims and fades.
hell_in_highheels: (River)
[from here]

River arrives in the bar just before seven in the evening, and secures a table for two in a cozy corner of the bar.  She's dressed casually, wearing her favourite Irish sweater, jeans and her tan field boots.  But she has to confess, she's spent a bit more time with her hair and her face.

For as interesting as Richard is, he is also a good looking man.

She orders a glass of pinot noir, and waits, watching the faces in the crowd.  When she sees him, she smiles broadly and holds up a hand.
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
As of Cubefall 2009, River Song has chosen to become a lycanthrope, a.k.a. werewolf, somewhat after the strain of lycanthropy in Dog Soldiers.  For the three days of the full moon, she transforms at moonrise into an eight foot tall digitigrade werewolf with a tail.

The rest of the month she has enhanced reflexes, a heightened sense of smell and hearing.  If your pup is organic and has a scent, she can detect their emotions, including lies.  Blood scent and fear scent will attract her attention, as will acting wounded.  Any prolonged eye contact (staring without blinking) will be taken as a challenge.  Waitrats will not approach her or your pup while your pup is in proximity, unless they really like your pup, or they've been tipped very well, in advance, and sometimes not even then.

She also understands and speaks canine which typically appears in italics like this.

For scent detecting pups, River is mated to Captain Ryan, and as such, his scent is all over her, all the time.  If your pup and Ryan have history, feel free to let it spill over to River.  A head's up for confrontations is greatly appreciated.

My AIM handle is exlibrisignis.  Please feel free to ping me for any interaction, questions, comments, or lotto numbers.  I promise I don't bite unless you ask nicely.
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