Her toes fit together like puzzle pieces. Each crooked but intricately fitting together with its partner.
No gaps.
At first she spreads them, flexing each individually. Except for the big toe on her right foot, which she can't flex to the side; it moves up and down and up and down in frustratingly uniform motions.
Scowling doesn't force it into cooperation any more than medication forces her to stop seeing the Blue.
Of all her toes, River decides she likes the fourth best. Science didn't find it necessary to name the digit, so River does.
"Parabola."
The word feels correct on her lips so she says it again. Simon looks at her questioningly and she sticks her tongue out at him in defiance. No more "Simon Says" today, she decides.
Her feet are built like a dancer. Or a fighter; Sometimes River does not comprehend the differences (they are not vast). Still, they function as feet should, carrying her over grated floors and dusty metals and greasy engine rooms.
The place they don't like going is not far from her room. It's a blue and sterile place Simon Says has set up just for her. Place that makes her feel empty and overflowing.
But she plays his game easily - except for the days when she grows tired and her mind does not understand the patterns of his speech.
Parabola is her favorite because it does not bend at the proper angle of ninety degrees.
Parabola is her favorite because it does not fit perfectly into its central partner.
Parabola is her favorite -