"Xiexie."

Wash takes a long gulp and rubs a hand over his right leg, wincing.

"It couldn't have gone numb, too," he mutters to himself. "It had to get paralyzed, but oh, no, let's let the pilot feel everything when we decide to rise up in great, violent, nervy rebellion and -- ow," he adds, and takes another swallow of alcohol. "Ruttin'...."