badinlatin: ("Woman you are really off your nut.")
Mal's actually feeling pretty gorram jovial. Inara had cocked an eyebrow at him when he offered to take her out on August first of all the days of the year, but she simply smiled and declined, giving him a kiss on the cheek and telling him he is not allowed to bleed on her sheets later.

Mal loves his wife.


Someone is complaining about the high prices of top shelf gou pi in the dive in which Zoe, Jayne and Mal have decided to ensconce themselves for the moment and Mal laughs, still feeling fairly calm about the world. Even Zoe has relaxed around Mal.

Which is probably not the best plan in the 'verse, but no one on Serenity is known for their plans.

Once again, just like last year and that other year and oh that one too, Mal is the only man walking in a faded brown duster and he doesn't care about the looks he garners because of it. Even he notices they have gotten fewer (though not by much) in the years passing, and that jovial mood keeps him from thinking about wiping any smirks from any unfriendly faces he sees. (Though not by much.)

"Ng Ka Pe," Mal orders nearly needlessly -- it's his fourth and the bartender thinks him uninventive by now. If only he knew that Mal could get something called a root beer float at the end of any known universe if only he just went back to his ship, Mal would think him rutting boring as hell.

There it is --

"A drink to the Alliance! Sticking those shit eating Browncoats back in the dirt where they come runnin' from!"


Mal keeps a smile on his face. Zoe and Jayne are waiting for him to even flinch, but he hasn't yet.

More calls cry out in agreement (though there are a few dissenting ones Mal takes note of) and ten minutes pass before Mal needs a refill. It's old hat by now -- middle of a loud bar, toasts screamed and hollered for damn near miles and some son of a bitch who doesn't know when to shut his trap keeps going about Du Khang and how many dust devils he must've shot dead there when Mal's hand flies to the back of the patron's head, slamming it down nose-first into the bartop.

Mal thinks idly that Mike would disapprove.

Apparently the patron didn't have many friends at the bar; the tender demands twelve bits to pay for the glasses Mal broke, but the same price also gets him a refill. Zoe and Jayne find an empty checkers board to occupy themselves with.

Someone calls out a toast to the IIGA and Mal raises his glass to no one in particular.

Mal-Inara.

Apr. 22nd, 2009 02:59 pm
badinlatin: ("Woman you are really off your nut.")
Mal is driving the mule; Zoe is keeping pressure on her shoulder and valiantly managing not to curse at the hot flashes of pain she receives when the mule pulls up the cargo bay.

The trashed cargo bay.

They've been here.

"Stay here -- " Mal hisses at Zoe even as he jumps the mule's side to make his way up the stairs to Shuttle One.

Simon-Mal.

Mar. 15th, 2009 06:23 pm
badinlatin: (Mal and Simon)
It took longer than it should have to arrange dinner.

Mal washed his hands first though, so that says something. So does the fact that he got to the bar early enough to look bored by the time Simon actually arrives.

"Doc!" Mal calls; he's already sitting at a table.
badinlatin: (Ruttin' Milliways)
If you're interested, I'd like to do a Mal-Kaylee thread. It's hard for me to be on and playing when you are lately, so I thought I'd try to make up for it. :D?

I was thinking just a meet up in the bar; mid-week versus weekend doesn't make much difference to me. Is Kaylee any good at billiards? Maybe they could play -- as a set up though Mal's probably just eating way too much greasy food and a beer at the bar.
badinlatin: (knitting)
A lot of Mal's job is waiting. Waiting to hear from clients, waiting on the trip from one end of the quadrant to the other for the drop. Milk runs and fistfights.

"'Nara?" Mal looks up from his knitting project. "What're you doin'?"

Simon-Mal.

Feb. 4th, 2009 09:14 pm
badinlatin: (boywhore robes)
Textwave.

To: Dr. Simon Tam
From: Harbatkin, Reginald

Haven't seen you around lately. Studying too much hurts the brain cells. I'll spare you the medical jargon on the topic.
badinlatin: (Default)
[ooc: After this.]

Mal returns to the bar from the garage, head itching and in general looking extremely uncomfortable.

He's still got the pry-bar in one hand when he asks for a room key at the bar.
badinlatin: ("let's moon 'em")
Kaylee manages to keep up with Mal's progress on the ship in the garage when she is home on Serenity. She'll find him alone to ask what section he's working on at any given time, and Mal is almost positive Kaylee comes down to the ship on her own time. There will be tools rearranged and evidence of new projects started, as there is no end to the things that one can choose to focus on. There are also some things that just can't be fixed. Beyond Repair: a subsection of the overall project list Mal and Kaylee had compiled. One of the landing gear pads is getting ready to buckle (evidence of skidding and a destructive landing), and the lower solar panels (Mal hasn't climbed through the upper hatches to check the others) are mutilated. They're just going to have to come off and get replaced.
I want to resolve this like civilized men.
With what coin, Mal has not the least clue in the 'verse, but it'll get done. Somehow.
You're fighting a war you've already lost.
Mal walks up the cargo bay ramp left wide open -- who the hell else walks all the way over here? -- to retrieve a pry-bar, walking out again to the port-side lower solar panel.
Yeah, well, I'm known for that.
He needs a ladder. With the ship's weight lowered on the landing gears, he can get close, but not enough to rip at the rivets that hold the panels to the hull. Mal finds one without too much effort and it clunks against the heavy shell of the ship.
It's worse than you know.
There's no immediate swing that follows, and the altitude gives him a mild case of vertigo.
Do you know what your sin is, Mal?
"Just do it," Mal mutters to himself in Chinese. It's your job.
I already know you will not see reason.
The silicon and cadmium splits and shatters and Mal wishes he'd thought about earplugs before swinging into the panel with the pry-bar. The frame is four panels by four panels - sixteen geometric shapes to make up the solar panel as a whole. Mal doesn't realize he's shattering them in a pattern, one vertical row after another, until he hits the third row and he notices the silicon shards are everywhere. He'll have to be careful, when he showers before heading home. Cuts are harder to explain than dirt.
If your quarry goes to ground, leave no ground to go to.
Mal tries to not let his thoughts stray too far while he's working. He's normally successful, but not so much today.
Or did you think that none of this was your fault?
His breathing gets labored and heavy; swinging the pry-bar while not falling off the ladder takes more effort than he had estimated. It may occur to him later that he could have simply cut through the supports lashing the panel to the outer hull.
I don't care what you believe in, just believe in it.
Possibly.

Life would be much simpler if Bar would just tell Mike things, instead of being so vague about them. Then Mike could do things like, not walk into the garage to find Mal taking out his frustrations on a space craft for no particular reason what so ever.

Talk about awkward.

He stands there silently, mentally cursing Bar for putting him in this situation. Watching Mal like this is like...well it's like watching Leo after Christmas.

That Christmas. The one where Leo stopped leading and started focusing, honing his anger.

He just...it's heartbreaking. The thought of interrupting grows less and less strong with every successive hit, until finally he just decides to show himself the way out.

Maybe they can talk later....

Possibly.

Mal-Jayne.

Jan. 16th, 2009 10:25 am
badinlatin: (mal-jayne)
It's a no-name bar.

Hell, it's a gorram no-name planet, Mal corrects himself, knowing quite well that the planet has a name. It's just such a small one that no one cares when they come here. It's just a planet, a bar, a beer.

Mal's third. He has no clue how many Jayne's had by now.
badinlatin: (Default)
Mal found the broken Firefly-class transport some time ago and Mal has continued to work as much as possible on its repair. The hardest part so far was definitely replacing the bridge window. Kaylee and Mal work in silence on that particular task; other things never get discussed here. Not here - this is a Job. Mal smiles more here too, lately.

Funny how cathartic building something can be.

The mechanic and captain finish work for the day, and Mal even jokes with Kaylee on their way back to Serenity, returning via Mal's door to Shuttle One. Inara smiles and gives Mal a kiss on the cheek when Kaylee disappears down the catwalk stairs, grimacing playfully when she gets a good look at him.

"What are you doing all the time that you come home so disgusting?" Inara asks lightly. The joking tone was not enough to hide the genuine curiosity behind it.

Mal beams at his wife. "Just a project, baobei." He shrugs off his shirt covered in dust and grime, dumping it in the corner of his room.

From that day forward, he takes showers at a spare room in the bar before coming back to the ship.


Inara is a smart woman, but more than that, she's observant. So though Mal is coming home at night without the cover of grease and dirt, he's coming home smelling of soap and with hints of grease still under his fingernails.

She lets it go for a while, because couples need their secrets and she knows Mal will tell her when he's ready. But the curiousity gets the better of her one night, so she decides to lay a little ground work.

"You seem happier lately," she comments a few minutes after Mal comes in to her shuttle, settled down on her couch and watching her puttering about.

Mal-Simon.

Dec. 2nd, 2008 09:26 pm
badinlatin: (Default)
Mal is working on a calligraphy project or two at the kitchen table. It's one of the easier projects he thought of to give as Christmas gifts, and anything easy on Mal's mind is preferable to...well. Not.

Sometimes the inks look plain and normal, if in weird colors. Sometimes he uses a silver ink that dries to nothing on the page. Very confusing.

Mal-Inara.

Nov. 24th, 2008 10:05 am
badinlatin: (malinara onna bed)
Mal walks into Shuttle One from the cargo bay and it takes Inara less than a second to question him. 'What is it?' she asks, because anything that makes Mal slide the shuttle hatch closed with as much useless force as he just did (one of the joys of pressurized doors -- no slamming), something must have happened.

Mal recounts the conversation from downstairs with Simon and Kaylee in a rush. After he finishes, complete with several 'What the hell was I supposed to say? Ain't like I can stop 'em' and a reinstituted habit of pacing, there's not much left to do except stare at Inara and wait for a reaction.
badinlatin: (but she's our witch)
Even with her lack of status with the Companion Guild, if ever there is a wave that gets bounced back to Inara's shuttle in the minute hours of ship's morning, it tends to be for the Companion rather than the captain of the ship. His wake up calls are never as polite as the timid chiming noise Inara's screen provided when a call was incoming.

"Mal, wake up."

"Nnn."

"It's from a bank."

One bloodshot eye opens to stare at Inara, who had thrown a robe around her when she went to see to the news. The text was blurry and illegible from Mal's position still sprawled on the bed, but then Inara opened the attached video file.

Crowley.

"Er. Cào wŏ, this is weird," the recorded Crowley mumbles, and Mal sits bolt upright. In his sleep-fogged brain, he almost thought to reply with a nod, like Crowley could see him. This Crowley.

Cào wŏ.

Mal and Inara just watch, and listen. Somewhere along Crowley's explanation of his travels from Earth-that-Was, Mal is happy. Genuinely happy, if only for (at the moment) the fact that he can now explain what happened. Why the history books get it wrong all the time. The knowledge of it all was more than Mal was ever expecting, even with his encounters with super-normality.

"...Annnd this is what I've put in place for you lot."

"Oh, Mal." Inara's still listening to Crowley's voice, but she has turned to reading the textwave portion from the bank while he is --

From the bank. For the ship.

"I'll see you around."

It's not for Mal. It's for the ship. The captain knows it, and his wife is still reading and rereading the textwave -- details on how to access the monies if and when necessary for expenditures pertaining to oh, Mal didn't care about the details. Not right now. When the video attachment stops, it returns to the last frame of the file, and freezes there. Mal would call it a mug shot capture, with Crowley looking straight into the camera like it owed him something.

Maybe it did.

"Hunh."
badinlatin: (red shirt)
It took Kaylee and Mal several days to figure out a plan of action to deal with repairs to the ship in the garage, and there's no argument to Mal's insistence at starting with the spikes through the bridge alongside the debris cleanup that needs to get cleared out before any true work can begin for restoration.

Mal wasn't sure what he'd need to go at the spikes - Kaylee brought over her favorite oxyacetylene cutting torch to start going at it in sections, with a spare for Mal.

He hopes she'll forgive the smile on his face at being able to attack the thing. Kaylee probably can't even see his face, but Mal still hopes anyway.

Mal-Simon.

Oct. 2nd, 2008 10:56 pm
badinlatin: (running in water)
It's easy enough to find Simon on the ship - "Doc, come up to Shuttle One. If you ain't busy" over the intercom's pretty efficient in that regard.

It's getting Simon to walk through the hatch door to Milliways that is slightly harder.

"What? You know you weren't doin' anything anyway."

Mal explains on their way through the bar proper that he wanted to go check on Tequila and Lime, and Inara was asleep already. Perfectly normal, checking on horses at night.

Okay.
badinlatin: (why did you leave?)
There's little to no conversation after Mal adjusts course, but everyone had their own corners of the ship to concern themselves with.

Simon's found himself in Shuttle Two -- clinic supplies and organization. Being as prepared as he could possibly be.

If such a thing is possible.

"You're sure we don't need to put down?" Mal asks, not announcing himself before walking into the converted Shuttle Two. Mal hasn't gotten really around to liking the concept of Simon going in the shuttle instead of Serenity.

"Kaylee hasn't mentioned -- "

"That weren't the point." Even with Mal being distinctly less technically proficient than his mechanic, even he knows that the fuel they burned through to get here makes orbiting Lilac a far better prospect than trying to land and break atmo again.

"And you're takin' Kaylee with you." Still matter-of-fact, but a mild tone of surprise.

"I'll need the help."

"Doctorin'."

That's when Simon straightens from his reorganization of an instrument tray, an expression of puzzlement. "It's what needs to be done."

It's a simple answer, direct and (as far as Mal can tell) the whole truth.

Mal offers to help move boxes and rearrange things. It's easier than finding something else to say that could remotely be interpreted as helpful.

When there were no more tools to sterilize, no more gauze to stow, "Let me know if there's anythin' needs doin' before we hit orbit." Simon nods, and Mal starts to head out of the shuttle.





"Doc?"

"Hmmm?"

"My kind o' stupid."
badinlatin: (exposition!Mal)
It had been a simple note from Simon -- an almost-typical 'Kaylee's back, we're staying in the bar, nobody's dead, be back later'. Simple, and appreciated nonetheless. Makes him feel all captainy, keepin' track of folk.

It's possible he has been hanging around the younger Tam sibling too long; the captain has his legs dangling off of the catwalks in front of the hatch to Shuttle One, not focusing on much of anything in particular. (That's what the end result looks like when you hide your earbud cords under your coat.)
badinlatin: (Mal Inara Shindig Smile)
Usually, when Mal Reynolds achieves some sort of romantic notion, it comes out in terms of near-death experiences or otherwise completely accidentally.

This doesn't mean that he does not wish to try every once in awhile, and today seems to be as good a reason as any to do so.

"Mal, what did you do?" Inara's putting laundry away in a trunk when Mal is returning from Milliways. He lifts one arm and shows off a basket of enough food to not have to leave the shuttle for at least the day, unless they want to.

Completely innocently: "You still have that shimmer wine about?"


A couple mangoes and a bottle of wine later.

And some starfruit.

Okay, and some fried rice. For sustenance, dong ma?



"Mrph. Time for a nap."

"No nap for you, Mister Reynolds. Where's your stamina when I need it?"

Mal shifts onto his side, looking to his wife with one of the rarer emotions he gets to feel at any given point - complete calm and relaxation. And love. Oh, shi a, with her fingercurls and china-doll skin and the throwing knife Mal's pretty sure she doesn't know he knows about, strapped underneath the oversized bed in the shuttle.

"Wŏ ài nĭ."

Inara just smiles back, recognizing a truthsome moment when she sees one.

"What would you hope for more, when the opportunity presented itself?" Mal starts off slowly, "A boy or a girl?"

Inara's eyes go wide for a moment, then her smile widens. "What would you hope for more?"

"That they look like you."
badinlatin: (bzuh?)
Jayne gamefully managed to not laugh out loud at Mal's predicament, yesterday.

He definitely heard snickering as soon as Jayne started heading down the stairs, but at least he did send up Simon, who promptly announced in that not-really-announcing way of his to take it easy and attempt to not try to be 'theatrical'.

"I suppose it's really worth defending myself on this one, is it."

Simon leaves him a bottle of ibuprofen and tells Inara to let him know if he does something else that requires medical attention.

"Don't worry," she says. "I keep the shackles under the bed."

Mal gets a chuckle out of that, sticking to the book he's claimed for himself. He's supposed to take it easy, after all.
badinlatin: (Old Mal.)
Go on, then.

There is a largely accepted theory in the 'verse that each choice you make creates the opportunity for different paths to follow. Bored or restless or in love or in pain -- they all require choice, then the consequences of that choice form a thread you follow, a life.

The Wheel weaves,

You could start a family, or you could not.

and all things are part of the Pattern.

You could do what you think is right, or do what you think is necessary and hope it's the same thing.

A lot of folk tend to hope for a lot of the same things: love (found in a whorehouse or in a long marriage or in a ship you live on for years), an opportunity to live the where and how and why of your life the way you want to.

Maybe you go all ashes-to-ashes, dust-to-dust a tiny bit earlier than you'd planned, since you'd never planned it at all. Depending on how those where and how and whys you chose, might be more inevitable than you'd thought.

Then again.

There are other worlds than these.

You might not.

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badinlatin: (Default)
Malcolm Beauregard Reynolds

October 2015

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