taxonomites | 03 - Location: Serenity [Voice/Visual]

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03 - Location: Serenity [Voice/Visual]

It was late, but Mal was still awake, caught between pacing the halls of his ship and getting comfortable in the kitchen and cleaning his guns. Both were regular routines for him, but at the moment, he wasn't sure which one was the biggest draw.

He'd just cleaned the weapons he'd accumulated a month or so ago, but there was something oddly relaxing about it. He didn't think anyone else understood that, but he didn't care either. So that was what he did.

Sitting at the table, with two of them in front of him, he picked one up and started the cleaning process, thinking that at least this would not take long. With only two guns, as opposed to the large collection he had that was not immediately available to him, this would be short but still satisfying.

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That's... quite a lot of firearms.

Are you in law enforcement as well?

My line of work, usin' guns is a regular thing.

Ain't no lawman, though.

... are you a hit man?

Nothin' like that. I own a transport ship, and I get things to people, as they need them.

So why the abundance of weaponry?

Jobs go south, people don't get what they paid for. Simple as that. Don't want to end up without a way of defendin' yourself.

Cas--Castle?

Thinkin' you've got the wrong person, miss.

You're not...but you look just like...

...

I'm sorry, you just look...just like someone I know.

Guns. Not Kaylee's favorite thing in the world. Not even close. But if she trusts anyone with them, it's Mal. There's no uneasiness about her as she walks into the Mess and heads toward the kitchen for some tea. On the way, she stops to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Heeey Cap'n. How're they lookin'?"

When he realizes just who's walked into the room, Mal's reaction is almost instant. He puts down the gun in his hand, and an almost-smile comes to his face. But just as quickly as it appeared, it disappears as he turns to look at his mechanic.

"Wishin' there was more of 'em, Kaylee. Never know when you're gonna need more than one."

Knowing her stance on guns, Mal attempts to change the subject. "Had much chance to go wearin' frilly dresses lately?" Along with ships and mechanics, Mal knows dresses and looking pretty are up there on Kaylee's list.

She can see your ears moving, Mal. Kaylee knows that almost-smile is there, don't think she doesn't.

"Well, you got two. It's a start."

Subject changes are always welcome. The mechanic puts a pot of water onto the stove, and leans over the counter to talk to Mal while it heats up. "Not really, no. Ain't been the occasion. Heard a few rumors 'bout possible Halloween parties. Can only hope at least one of 'em's true so I do got the excuse."

But the smile disappears so fast, she still may have been imagining it. Or that's what Mal tells himself, at least.

"Supposin' one breaks, though." Mal runs a hand over the surface of the gun. "Ain't gonna let that happen, 'cause that's when problems happen."

Again with the grim stuff. So much for subject changes. "Might have to talk with someone about that. Nothin' wrong with a good party now and again." Of course, Mal's never been the type to go to a party, unless there was the possibility of contacting someone, but Kaylee loves parties, so if he has to talk to everyone in Taxon to get one going, then that's exactly what he'll do.

"Best make sure it don't break, then. Doubt it could, the way you take care of 'em."

Oh but parties. Taxon could do with a decent party, one of these nights. "Maybe we could throw somethin' down at Caritas, if Lorne'd let us. Or at the ranch, might be a good place." Party might get Mal off his bum, too, force him to interact with something besides his ship and guns. He'd never admit to it, Kaylee knew, but he might actually like it.

"Right, 'cause then we'd be in real trouble." Well, not really, because there's other things to use than guns. But again, being without a working gun falls under the category of complications.

"Ranch'd be a good place, so long as we get it filled with food and drinks and all manner of stuff you'd find at parties." And Mal might not even show up, if a party actually goes down. He's happy enough just staying on board Serenity.

Because they're totally not used to complications around here.

"'N decorations and everythin' else? We could make a shiny little gatherin' out of it, I'd bet." Note the 'we,' Mal. That means you'll be there too, or Kaylee will be on her way back to drag you out of the ship instead of attending the party.

'Course not. Being under the thumb of some aliens no one's ever seen definitely can be called a complication.

"I'd leave that part to you and River. I'd just make a mess of things. Decoratin' ain't somethin' I'm good at." He notes the "we" but doesn't comment. He's still planning on just sitting this party out, if it happens. Even if Kaylee tries her wiles, he's just not a party person.

Somewhere amidst the cleaning and the Kaylee, Mal can enjoy the company of a small crazy person.

Well, half the company. River isn't venturing entirely into the mess to join him, opting instead to lean against the doorway and poke her head in. She's looking at the guns, all wrapped up in method and precision and purpose.

She gets it, kind of.

"They're following."

Still sitting down, Mal coughs suddenly as dust blows up in his face. Not from the guns, but from the table. Seems everything's covered in it. "Might have to clean that too, once I'm done," he says mostly to himself.

But then the sound of feet scuffling as someone approaches to lean against the door draws his attention. He looks up briefly to see who it is. "Not sure who you mean," he replies, before looking back down at his work.

"Lines of methodology," is her oh so helpful explanation as she makes her way in, step by careful step. River's unusually focused attention stays on the guns during most of her inward progress.

Because that's not, you know. Strange.

When she's a foot away from the table, though, the focus changes and she leans down, takes a breath, and blows a little plume of dust up into the light. (Either she is trying to help solve the Problem of the Dusty Table, or she's trying to demonstrate the severity of said problem. It's hard to tell.)

Mal pauses for a moment, to look River over, and see if he can figure out what exactly she's saying. But no brainwaves come, so he turns his attention back to his work.

He doesn't stay focused for long, though, thanks to the dust plume that flies up into his face, causing him to cough. "Mind if you do that somewhere else? Flyin' dust ain't gonna get these cleaned." He makes his tone sound stern, but he's not really that put out.

River doesn't mind the lack of understanding. This kind of communical difference isn't new. In fact, it's almost comforting.

Still bent over the table, she slowly (finally) changes her focus to his face. "It's unsanitary." At least the dust-blowing will stop for now.

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