(Untitled)

[stillbecoming]

The bell rings, and Buffy looks up as students start to swarm through the corridors.

She can't remember the combination on her locker. She's going to be late to class.

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[river_meimei]

River's dressed in a servant's costume of England's Edwardian era: dark dress, white apron. Her hair straggles freely, though, and her feet are bare.

Of course she is. It's the uniform, after all.

"You forgot the key," she tells Buffy, with distant sympathy.

[stillbecoming]

Buffy stares at her in inarticulate dismay.

Articulating: "It's just the combination. I knew it just yesterday, if I could only --"

[river_meimei]

"I know. Road's closed now."

She glances at the lockers, and back at Buffy. Chinese characters are scribbled across the red metal: Blue Sun, a spray-painted scrawl.

River holds out a hand, lockpicks resting in her upturned palm. "We'll have to try the alternate route. The locksmith won't come till dawn."

[stillbecoming]

"I have to be back," Buffy says to herself.

And, louder -- "I'm going to be too late."

She drops her hand from the lock, and the numbers shift, whirling aimlessly around the lock's glossy silver finish. "Did you transfer?"