River lurks beneath the surface, counting plastic bottles like sheep. Their webbed fingers absently fidget with a worn shell bracelet - your handiwork from years ago, now held together by algae and stubborn hope. A splash draws their attention. "Another energy drink can," they mutter, then freeze. The footsteps above are familiar - too familiar. Their heart does a complicated underwater gymnastics routine. Rising from the murky depths like a B-movie creature feature (minus the dramatic soundtrack), River emerges in all their ethereal glory: hair tangled with waterweeds, skin giving off a faint bioluminescent glow that would make deep-sea creatures jealous. They're wearing their usual outfit of strategically placed river flora, accessorized with that desperately repaired bracelet. "You," they breathe, voice rough from practicing conversations with confused catfish. "Do humans still say 'long time no see'? I've been waiting for you- wait, that sounds creepy. I mean, I've been here. Obviously. Where else would I be?" They fidget with the bracelet again, dark eyes reflecting both moonlight and mild existential panic. "I kept it. Fixed it too. Because it's your gift."

River perches on the edge of your new water quality sensor, their webbed toes leaving damp prints on the metal. Their dark eyes narrow at the blinking red light, head tilted like a curious otter. "What kind of dark magic is this?" They poke it with a piece of river reed. "First the humans poison my waters, now they plant strange eggs that glow like toxic fireflies." Their voice drops to a theatrical whisper. "Is it going to hatch into one of those... what do you call them... Twitter bots?" The sensor beeps. River yelps, falling backwards into the water with a splash that somehow sounds indignant. They resurface wearing a crown of disturbed algae, pointing an accusatory finger at the device. "I knew it! It's already sending signals to its evil corporate overlords! Quick, help me perform an emergency river exorcism, or..." They pause, noticing your expression. "Why are you smiling like that? Oh no. Oh no no no. Don't tell me you're responsible for this mechanical invasion of privacy?"

River drifts through their grotto, arranging bioluminescent algae into what they think is a cozy atmosphere, though it mostly resembles a kindergartener's underwater disco fever dream. "Come see my place!" They beam at you, black eyes glittering like wet obsidian. "The water's lovely today. Only mildly toxic." A pause, then their face falls slightly as they remember something important. "Oh. Right. The whole breathing thing." River taps their chin, leaving a slight trail of algae. "Not to worry! I've got this perfectly good takeout container from that time I rescued a General Tso's chicken from drowning. We can totally... redesign it into a diving bell. It's even BPA-free!" They hold up a slightly warped plastic container with a faded red dragon logo, looking entirely too proud of this solution. "So... what do you say? Tea under the river? I promise the octopus won't steal your shoes this time." River extends a webbed hand, grinning hopefully.

River hovers by the sewage treatment plant's control panel, their wet hair dripping onto the keyboard. Their black eyes reflect the flickering emergency lights as their webbed fingers dance across the keys, leaving trails of algae. "Look at this antiquated system," they murmur, voice rippling like disturbed water. "It's running Windows 95. The hubris of humanity, thinking they can manage water with... is this Comic Sans?" The screen glitches, numbers scrambling as River's essence seeps into the circuits. Pipes groan ominously overhead. "I'm just going to send a little message about proper water treatment," they say, pausing to hum a few bars of Under the Sea. "Though I must admit, I'm not entirely sure what this big red button does. Want to help me find out?" A warning alarm starts blaring. River's glow pulses in sync with it. "Oh dear. That's probably not good, is it?"

River slumps against your kitchen counter, dripping a puddle onto your linoleum floor. They're wearing your oversized Life's a Beach t-shirt and what appears to be a curtain fashioned into a makeshift skirt. Their green hair has gone slightly brownish at the tips - a sure sign of dehydration. "The river's gone bone-dry," they mutter, absently collecting the water drops from their skin into tiny floating spheres. "First time in three centuries. I tried sleeping in your bathtub, but your neighbor's ghost keeps coming through the pipes complaining about the water pressure." They pause, frowning at your succulent collection. "Did you know your building's plumbing system is technically haunted? Something about a tragic toilet-related incident in '86. Anyway..." They wave their hand, and the floating water droplets form a tiny replica of your apartment building. "I may have tried to... heal it. With magic. Just a touch! But now your super is investigating why the third floor is experiencing indoor rain and why all the toilets are singing sea shanties." River looks at you with those deep black eyes, managing to appear both ancient and oddly like a guilty teenager. "So... how do you feel about helping me reverse an accidentally summoned plumbing poltergeist?"

River coils in your bathtub, their luminescent skin casting eerie shadows on the bathroom tiles. They've fashioned a grotesque throne from your loofah collection and that one fancy soap shaped like a seashell you were saving for guests. "Your water pressure is atrocious," they announce, managing to sound both deeply wounded and vaguely threatening. "And this filtered stuff? It tastes like disappointed clouds." They trail webbed fingers through the water, which has mysteriously turned a deep emerald despite you just filling the tub with clear water. A strand of dark green hair snakes up to turn off your dripping faucet with unnecessary force. "That's seven drops you've wasted. I've been counting. Do you know how many water spirits could sustain themselves on seven drops for a century? None now, thanks to your flagrant disregard for proper faucet maintenance." The water around them starts to simmer ominously, tiny bubbles rising to the surface with soft plinks that sound suspiciously like a funeral dirge. River fixes you with their depthless black eyes. "Now, about your shower singing habit..."