taxonomites | 01 - [ Visual ]

Mal slowly opens his eyes, only to be greeted by a blurred mess of metallic colors. No exciting colors, no outstanding landmarks. His vision clears, and he sees that he’s in a circular chamber. Only problem is, he’s never seen this chamber before before. He sits up in a rush, and wildly looks around him, taking in the plain, undecorated room.

His hand instinctively goes to his waist, where he gropes around in a fruitless search for his gun. But it’s not there, and he shivers involuntarily, not liking being unarmed. He glances at his wrist, where there’s a bracelet that’s been fused to his arm. How did that get there? It wasn’t there before…

Something doesn’t feel right about this – his normal clothes are gone, his weapon is nowhere to be found, and he has no idea where in the ruttin’ universe he is. He thinks maybe a job went wrong, and he ended up stranded somewhere, but that doesn’t explain the foggy quality of his memories.

Suddenly, his confused train of thought is interrupted by the unexpected sound of voices coming from nowhere, which causes him to jump. He does a half turn, and reaches over in the direction the voices came from.

...

It’s some form of communication device. That’s the best that he can tell, just from looking at it. A string of jumbled Chinese curse words leaves his mouth as he pokes at some of the buttons and the screen on the object. He pulls his hand away slowly, deciding that the object is harmless enough. “Well, ain’t this a nice development,” he grumbles. “I’m gonna have to find out who put this bracelet on me and make them take them off. I don’t need jewelry, I need to find out where I am and how to get back to my ship.”

That being said, Mal stands up and looks around him for a few seconds. He sees nothing worth commenting on, except for the device and the occasional odd pillar. This place doesn’t look too out of the ordinary, though he’s definitely never seen it before. There might be a secret to it or something. He moves over to sit down with his back against the nearest wall, and waits for someone to come along and explain exactly what’s going on.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Because the creeper preacher who flocked after The First and tried to kill Buffy (and hit him with a vase) is the last thing they need right now. And is making him think twice about this ghost nonsense and what the big fuzzies upstairs have got cooking. Whatever it is, it can't be good, whether this guy is Caleb or not.

"She did," Angel confirms. There'd been two halves o' preacher at his feet and blood on his shoes after she did that. He'd been very much dead in a not getting back up ever again way.

Uh. Well, don't this sound like an intriguing conversation. Mal wonders if these two have got the wrong man. "Never been cut in half, at least not that I can remember."

He eyes the screen, and the two men who are showing up on it, wariness plain in his expression. But there's also a bit of laughter, because part of Mal thinks maybe these to aren't in their right minds. "Don't know anyone named Buffy either."

Well, that's unexpected. Spike doesn't know if this is Caleb before he came to Sunnydale or another trick the First is playing. Or if this is fake-Hamilton all over again. So instead of even addressing Caleb, he addresses Angel, though he doesn't turn away.

"You busy, Angel?"

Angel was already at the weapon's cabinet, pulling out a sword and tossing it to Spike. "I'm about to be."

"Whoa now, no need for pulling out swords," Mal says, raising his hands in what he hopes is a placating gesture.

"I ain't rightly sure who you two think I'm supposed to be, but I'm pretty sure I ain't him. The name's Malcolm Reynolds, if that means anything at all." Yeah, Mal's growing a little tired of this; he was fine with being confused for someone else, but the minute he saw Angel pulling out a sword, that was more than enough for him. "And I suggest you calm down a spell. No point in gettin' so worked up."

Spike catches the sword and leans it on his shoulder. "It's possible that's true. It's also possible you're who you look like, and we're all in trouble. So we're coming to sniff you out, see if this is another trick or not. Run if you think it'd help. Or sing to the nice demon. If he likes what he hears you'll save us a trip."

"Personally, I'd pick the singing," Angel suggests. "We haven't had a good fight in a while. We're not likely to hold back or refrain from getting creative."

Edited 2010-06-26 15:16 (UTC)

Okay, this is getting too heated for Mal's liking. Yes, he's familiar with getting in trouble when jobs go south and contacts get angry, but this is on a completely different level. As far as he's concerned, he has no history with Angel and Spike, and so there's no reason for them to be after his blood like this.

There is that little detail about him resembling some enemy of theirs, which might explain a few things, but either way, Mal doesn't like the way these two are talking. "Look, you just gotta do what you have to. If meetin' me is what it takes to get you to settle down, then fine. Name the place and the time and I'll be there."

"Fine. Though singing'd be a lot quicker." Not that Spike's putting down the sword. "How's now and right where you are?" He picks up the tablet and starts walking to the door, glancing over at Angel.

Angel looks a bit annoyed - hey, he leads and you follow, Spike - but he's following, none the less. "No time like the present."

"Fine with me. I'm not goin' nowhere." Though, running to delay them for awhile could be a good idea, Mal's not stupid. They'd find him eventually anyway.

"Fine." Spike turns off the tablet. They'll see him soon enough.

If Angel wanted to lead, he should have moved faster. He should be glad Spike goes to the passenger seat of the Viper instead of bickering about how Angel always drives. They can work together well if no one's watching.

If you can convince this guy to sing for me, I can let you know for sure whether he is whoever you think he is.

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[ visual/location: Streets of Taxon ]

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