Malcolm Beauregard Reynolds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
badinlatin) wrote2007-03-12 08:24 pm
badinlatin) wrote2007-03-12 08:24 pm
The corner of no and where.
The entire situation reminded Mal of Haven far more than he enjoyed admitting to himself, but got around it by repeating a couple of times that Haven was a pretty typical example of settlements all over this edge of the 'verse. Most of the centralized shelter-constructions in the town are tents; tarps and scraps sewn together to give the workers here and in any other town of its kind a space away from the heat and the work of the day.
Of course right now it's nighttime. The tent is altogether different.
Mal has his feet propped up on the end of the chair at the head of the long table that had earlier served to share food for the settlers and his crew both -- payment for a job well done. He has no food now; rather he sits to the right of a man made older by too much premature silvered hair.
"...Independently run?" Arthur repeats incredulously. "And Tam thinks he can pull this off?" His indignation seems to match the ferocious shaking of the silver hair on his head.
"That he does," Mal doesn't skip a beat. "I think it'd be rather ruttin' beneficial on your end, Arthur. Bein' the highest man about this place'd keep you in a good way if he manages this."
Arthur laughs, "I can keep that with or without this thing, Captain; you know that." Mal does -- Arthur's been in charge of this particular settlement since before Serenity Valley; Mal'd come to see him after the armistice once or twice and he was already set up, giving orders. Like nothing had changed.
"Try this then," Mal eyes around the rest of the inhabitants remaining in the tent; a few men slumped back in chairs or forward over tables; too much drink after too much work. Judging the group to be safe, he leans inward. "How much effort do you put in to work around or with the feds? Bribes? Trade-offs with security? This'd just be a whole new level o' playing field for you. And you know it."
Arthur grunts. Mal hit home somewhere in that; he can tell Arthur cracks his knuckles when he dismisses himself from the table.
Mal finishes his drink and stands. He's put enough effort out there for the night.
Of course right now it's nighttime. The tent is altogether different.
Mal has his feet propped up on the end of the chair at the head of the long table that had earlier served to share food for the settlers and his crew both -- payment for a job well done. He has no food now; rather he sits to the right of a man made older by too much premature silvered hair.
"...Independently run?" Arthur repeats incredulously. "And Tam thinks he can pull this off?" His indignation seems to match the ferocious shaking of the silver hair on his head.
"That he does," Mal doesn't skip a beat. "I think it'd be rather ruttin' beneficial on your end, Arthur. Bein' the highest man about this place'd keep you in a good way if he manages this."
Arthur laughs, "I can keep that with or without this thing, Captain; you know that." Mal does -- Arthur's been in charge of this particular settlement since before Serenity Valley; Mal'd come to see him after the armistice once or twice and he was already set up, giving orders. Like nothing had changed.
"Try this then," Mal eyes around the rest of the inhabitants remaining in the tent; a few men slumped back in chairs or forward over tables; too much drink after too much work. Judging the group to be safe, he leans inward. "How much effort do you put in to work around or with the feds? Bribes? Trade-offs with security? This'd just be a whole new level o' playing field for you. And you know it."
Arthur grunts. Mal hit home somewhere in that; he can tell Arthur cracks his knuckles when he dismisses himself from the table.
Mal finishes his drink and stands. He's put enough effort out there for the night.