Mal-Wash, Southdown Abbey.

[badinlatin]

Sometimes the days move too fast even for Mal.

This may be why he absconded with a cup of tea into the gardens behind one of the main buildings of the abbey, propping his feet up on a stone lining one side of a walkway and occupying a bench for no particular reason at all.

His attention seems divided between the leather-bound book on his lap and the gold hoop he keeps fidgeting with.

Comments

[badinlatin]

Mal shoots yet another 'bzuh?' look to Wash at the laugh.

"I'm missin' somethin' funny."

[flybywash]

Without uncovering his eyes, he makes a circling motion with his free hand.

"The part about Crowley being my uncle. Think about who he's good friends with in the bar. Maybe, I don't know...people he'd think of as brothers."

[badinlatin]

Y'know that game 'Telephone'?

Ever see someone go through facial expressions that make it look like they're playing 'Telephone' all in their own head?

"...Really."

[flybywash]

"Yeah."

He nods.

Still with his hand over his eyes.

Oh, yeah, and still struggling not to laugh.

"I think I'd have more fun sharing the head-hurting if it didn't make mine hurt, too."

[badinlatin]

"Indeed."

"I wonder if Inara has aspirin."

[flybywash]

"Smuggle some over to me. I'll bribe the novices to clear a path."

[badinlatin]

Still with one hand vaguely to his temple, Mal stands.

"Sounds like a plan." Picking up his book, "Otherwise, I'll see you later, then?"

[flybywash]

"Yeah. See you, Mal." Before he's gone too far: "And...thanks."

Wash resettles himself on the bench, the laughter and smile fading.

After a minute, carefully, he swings himself around to sprawl across the entire thing, left leg propped up, hands laced over the scar just beneath his heart.