badinlatin | Mal-Tonks, onboard a different sort of ship.

Mal-Tonks, onboard a different sort of ship.

Apparently, Spanish ships (and it took Mal a second or two to understand Spanish wasn't a brand name or a model but a country -- they still have countries here) are supposed to be sturdy, well-constructed and often considered beautiful.

Mal imagines the ship they've stolen to make their way to their destination used to be beautiful. Maybe.

He's far too distracted by the view from the prow and his own desperate desire for a vidcapture to care all that much anyway.

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Nymphadora is many things.

Good on a boat is not one of them.

Unfortunately, Charlotte negates the possibility of an anti-motion-sickness spell, so 'Dora's clutching the side of the boat, looking exceedingly green, and trying not to throw up.

...Again.

Mal hears the footsteps somewhere behind him, and if he's learned one thing so far, it's this.

He is so happy he can never be pregnant.

Turning to Dora, "Feelin' ill again? C'mon up here -- best breeze and all."

Mal doesn't get seasick, but at least he can sympathize.

Managing a wan, watery smile, 'Dora lurches up to stand beside Mal. She closes her eyes and lets the cool breeze wash over her face, getting a hint of her color back. "I'll get over it eventually," she murmurs, and then looks down at her belly. "I hope you're happy, little girl, because you are not helping."

"Just think of it as practice for all the grief she'll give you 'n Bernard when she's out and about," Mal smirks.

Pointing toward the ship's heading (which is to say, directly in front of them with no discernable land in sight), "Can't argue with the view, though."

"It really is quite lovely," she relents, propping her chin up on her hand. Then she sighs, and laughs. "What the hell are we doing here, mate?"

"I don't know and I have no idea." That laugh is returned, a little less honestly than Dora's own sounds. "I know why I'm here -- how your spell of blue flashy doom ended up sucking you here in the first place seems to be the better question."

Beat. "'Nara 'n Kaylee are probably havin' fits."

"Most likely. And in spite of your note, I reckon Bernard's beside himself."

Ruefully she sighs, and then turns her thoughts back to the spell.

"Truth is, Mal, it scares me. It shouldn't have worked. My magic's not strong enough to affect the door -- or at least, it hasn't ever been strong enough before."

Tonks looks down at her hands, idly fiddling with a frayed bit of rope.

"Maybe something's changed with the door. Or maybe it wasn't me at all."

"I'm leaning toward the notion that it weren't you at all."

Mal thinks to Tia Dalma, and the glitter in his eyes as she figured who he was and how he got there.

"I don't think much of what's going on here's got anythin' to do with us.

"What do you think o' this...plan?" The pause indicates some level of Mal's opinion on the topic. "Not goin' to lie and say it won't be fun to get back to some thieving, but."

But.

The ship lurches and 'Dora grips the railing, waiting a long moment and taking a deep breath before replying.

"I think it's... well, I think there's an awful lot of ifs in that plan. But I don't know this world, and I'm certainly not a pirate, so I can't think of anything better to suggest." The witch looks over at Mal, eyebrow raised. "But?"

"But I tend to run when I ought to fight, and fight when I ought to deal. So the rumors go in my end o' the 'verse."

Mal makes a face. "Can't believe I just quoted Fanty 'n Mingo. Makes our current company seem righteous and upstanding."

"...You know people called 'Fanty' and 'Mingo'?"

A matching look.

"...Have you met my crew? Also, how are you one to talk -- "

Muscles tensed to run.

" -- Nymphadoradon'thurtthebodyguard."

'Dora sticks her tongue out.

"You're quite lucky your face is too pretty to rearrange."

But she apparently has no such qualms about his foot, upon which she stamps.

With love.

:O!

"...Someone's cranky just 'cause they can't keep their lunch down."

"And do you want me to aim for you next time I feel it coming on?"

Hands raised above his head in surrender, "No, ma'am."

Pointing to the lapels of his brown duster, "Do you have any conception as to the dry cleanin' bill for this thing?"

Not that it looks like it's ever been cleaned, but maybe that's the point.

Dryly, "I'm sure it's astronomical."

The smile fades as she looks out at the horizon.

"But yeah. Gotta wonder if it's a good idea to get even more pirates involved in this party."

"It's the whole locker-business that's throwin' me off as well," Mal explains. "It's definitely a new wrinkle on the face o' whatever it was I ever learned in Sunday school, with what happens when you're dead."

"Mm. I know. 'S bloody weird, isn't it? That certainly isn't what I imagined when I heard the term tossed around in popular culture."

"That fits though - pirating don't seem to be the popular way o' life in any 'verse I've found. I might tend to agree with that."

Mal makes a face. "What with all the swords and the lack of automated weapons."

"Well," 'Dora points out, "They are several hundred years before your time. Think of it as a tactical advantage for you!"

"Or a bull's-eye on my back."

Her words came quickly, sharply.

"No. I won't let you get hurt."

Mal can't help but crack a smile.

"Thought that was supposed to be my job."

Beat. "I ain't complainin', however."

"Best not be."

Nymphadora nudged him with her elbow, and it was a far gentler gesture than the stomp to his foot had been.

"Anyway, we're a team. That's just the way it is."

"A team," he affirms.

Mal's fine with that.

A tiny smile. "Good." She slips her arm through his, then, and drops her head to rest against Mal's shoulder. "I miss Bernard."

"Me too," he jokes, the attempt at a laugh enough to move the shoulder slightly beneath Dora's temple. "He and I have such a fling goin'."

And the weirder and unwanted that image gets in his head, the less likely that Inara staying up at night wondering where he is is going to bother him.

"The two of you together," she replies with an arch smile, "would be enough to make any room spontaneously combust."

The smile fades a little. 'Dora's eyes are still trained on the endless rolling waves.

"Mal?"

"Shi a?"

Mal's not really sure there's any question that could follow that tone that could be a good thing.

"I don't want you to worry, or anything, but--" 'Dora cut herself off and took a deep breath. "This pregnancy hasn't been the easiest. There's a chance I might have some-- some trouble, somewhere down the line. And I haven't told Elizabeth, or anyone else here, but just in case anything happens while we're here, I want you to know what's going on."

Crap.

"I'm glad to know, but babysittin' Naomi doesn't exactly qualify me as an obstetrician."

Quickly, "No, of course it doesn't. It's all right, it's more-- if something happens I just like to know that somebody else knows, too. It's more of a comfort thing than anything you can really do." Her cheeks stain slightly pink, and she shrugs self-consciously. "Even soldiers get the jitters, now and then."

A smooch lands somewhere just between Dora's forehead and the crown of her hair.

"I'm aware, baobei. No worries."

Except now, Mal has visions of dictating to Dora when to push.

He'd rather play with the undead monkey following Barbossa around.

'Dora half-hugs him for a moment, very tightly, her eyes pressed against the shoulder of his coat. "Thanks." She lets go and steps back, one hand on the rigging line still steadying her. "'M feeling better. Might go and have a lie down."

"Think that's the best plan." Mal stands to help Dora get on her feet if she needs it.

"Remember -- anybody gets in your way as you're tryin' to find someplace comfy to curl up, just zap 'em. Advanced technology and whatnot."

She nods solemnly and pulls out her wand, giving it a twirl. "I'll tell 'em it's on Captain Reynolds' orders."

Carefully, Nymphadora turns and walks back down the length of the ship, both arms stretched out for balance. It makes her look rather younger than her twenty-six years.

Mal watches Dora walk all the way from his seat to disappearing below-deck, before turning back around to face the sea.

It's the most comfortable spot he can find on the ship in this 'verse planetside and he intends to stay here as long as possible.

Or until there's finally, finally a job for him to do.

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Mal-Tonks, onboard a different sort of ship.

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