Malcolm Beauregard Reynolds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
badinlatin) wrote2017-07-23 07:35 pm
badinlatin) wrote2017-07-23 07:35 pm
Mother-son talk.
Lilly Kane
Susan
that fucker Roland
Caspian
Ace
Bernard and Tonks
Faith
Kitty Pryde
Meg
gorram Crowley even
Simon and Kaylee
"What're you doin'?" his mother interrupts Mal writing a list, peeking over his shoulder at her son's scribbled shorthand. How his characters got so lovely but his English print so awful, she'll never know.
"Nothin' you're gonna like."
"So why're you doin' it in my bar, son?"
Good point. Mal folds up the list and orders a drink from his mother, since waking Bar while Sallie's on shift seemed kind of rude. Sallie pours some sauce for herself as well, stronger than her usual fare, and finds a stool on her side of the mahogany top. Bar dear, would you mind terribly?
The customers are served by magically appearing beverages for the moment.
"Ma, if you're workin'..."
"Shi a, at the only job I do for no coin. Now tell me. Or do I need to try 'n magic that list from you?"
Mal lifts an eyebrow but doesn't comment. They'd agreed against such things, way back when those things were new to them both. No 'magickin' of things. Ask, be direct, and cope with the answers you get. Or not. The Reynolds way, they had joked. He hands over the paper.
"What's with the names? Why're Kaylee and Simon on this? There's a couple folk on her I don't ken..."
"And you won't. They don't come here now. For whatever reason." Before Sallie can comment, "For good reasons, most. I can't fault 'em on that."
"Is that why you don't come here now?" It's better to be direct. Most of the time.
"That's a philosophy quandary here - If I don't come here, how'm I here now?"
"Don't be a jackass, Malcolm, you know exactly what I'm talkin' of." It's so rare to get her son here un-beckoned. He'll come with a smile on his face if Sallie waves him, but just to see him on the fly? Almost never. It always takes prodding.
"I come 'ere to see you, Ma. Only place I can once you sold the land."
"You couldn't've come to Shadow when I had the land, and you kn--"
Mal holds up a palm. "I know it. And you're happy here." The first smile of the conversation, and Mal covers Sallie's hand in hers. "I love this place for that. For bringing you happiness, and a whole 'nother family."
Sallie didn't appreciate where this was going. "Not to replace my first one!"
"No, I'm still your son, Ma. And I'm lucky for it." His eyes flick down to the paper with those names on it. It's incomplete at best. So many people in and out of here.
"So...why write them all out?"
"I think...to make sure they existed."
Sallie has nothing to offer at that point. She looks up and her son doesn't seem...sad, truly. Contemplative? (A little maudlin?)
Old. Not in a bad way. (She is turning 72 this year; she can't see him turning 45 as being bad - especially since he'd done so much to try and not see 40.) But his grey is coming in more pronounced-like of late, and he rubs at his knuckles like Sallie used to when she first started developing arthritis.
"I'm sorry, Ma - I don't mean to be down in the mouth around you. I don't see you enough to waste time on things like that."
"Nonsense. 't means I'm still of use to you now 'n then."
"O' course you are." Suddenly serious. "Not in question ever."
"That mean you're stayin' for dinner?"
Mal finishes his drink, slipping back into a comfortable smile he is usually wearing for the casual observer. It's honest nevertheless. "See? Told you you're of use."
Susan
that fucker Roland
Caspian
Ace
Bernard and Tonks
Faith
Kitty Pryde
Meg
gorram Crowley even
Simon and Kaylee
"What're you doin'?" his mother interrupts Mal writing a list, peeking over his shoulder at her son's scribbled shorthand. How his characters got so lovely but his English print so awful, she'll never know.
"Nothin' you're gonna like."
"So why're you doin' it in my bar, son?"
Good point. Mal folds up the list and orders a drink from his mother, since waking Bar while Sallie's on shift seemed kind of rude. Sallie pours some sauce for herself as well, stronger than her usual fare, and finds a stool on her side of the mahogany top. Bar dear, would you mind terribly?
The customers are served by magically appearing beverages for the moment.
"Ma, if you're workin'..."
"Shi a, at the only job I do for no coin. Now tell me. Or do I need to try 'n magic that list from you?"
Mal lifts an eyebrow but doesn't comment. They'd agreed against such things, way back when those things were new to them both. No 'magickin' of things. Ask, be direct, and cope with the answers you get. Or not. The Reynolds way, they had joked. He hands over the paper.
"What's with the names? Why're Kaylee and Simon on this? There's a couple folk on her I don't ken..."
"And you won't. They don't come here now. For whatever reason." Before Sallie can comment, "For good reasons, most. I can't fault 'em on that."
"Is that why you don't come here now?" It's better to be direct. Most of the time.
"That's a philosophy quandary here - If I don't come here, how'm I here now?"
"Don't be a jackass, Malcolm, you know exactly what I'm talkin' of." It's so rare to get her son here un-beckoned. He'll come with a smile on his face if Sallie waves him, but just to see him on the fly? Almost never. It always takes prodding.
"I come 'ere to see you, Ma. Only place I can once you sold the land."
"You couldn't've come to Shadow when I had the land, and you kn--"
Mal holds up a palm. "I know it. And you're happy here." The first smile of the conversation, and Mal covers Sallie's hand in hers. "I love this place for that. For bringing you happiness, and a whole 'nother family."
Sallie didn't appreciate where this was going. "Not to replace my first one!"
"No, I'm still your son, Ma. And I'm lucky for it." His eyes flick down to the paper with those names on it. It's incomplete at best. So many people in and out of here.
"So...why write them all out?"
"I think...to make sure they existed."
Sallie has nothing to offer at that point. She looks up and her son doesn't seem...sad, truly. Contemplative? (A little maudlin?)
Old. Not in a bad way. (She is turning 72 this year; she can't see him turning 45 as being bad - especially since he'd done so much to try and not see 40.) But his grey is coming in more pronounced-like of late, and he rubs at his knuckles like Sallie used to when she first started developing arthritis.
"I'm sorry, Ma - I don't mean to be down in the mouth around you. I don't see you enough to waste time on things like that."
"Nonsense. 't means I'm still of use to you now 'n then."
"O' course you are." Suddenly serious. "Not in question ever."
"That mean you're stayin' for dinner?"
Mal finishes his drink, slipping back into a comfortable smile he is usually wearing for the casual observer. It's honest nevertheless. "See? Told you you're of use."