indesolution | (no subject)

Entry tags:

captain malcolm reynolds

(no subject)

Lot of people talking of strange things. Still can't believe I missed a fight, but from the sounds it was prolly for the best.

Tleast River's here now, right down the hall from me, and much as I'd like to help her adjust to this place as best I can, I'm not sure I've quite done adjusting myself yet. Still, her roommate seems a good sort (and you'd better hope, kid, that you don't go provin me wrong.) Pretty sure with her help we'll have the others coming through soon, then we may have enough expertise to start lookin to the sky.

They got the parts to build a dome, they oughta have the parts to build a spaceship. Someone else here mentioned it, don't really remember, but colonising other worlds's the only way to escape a dying planet. Maybe this time we'll do it right, and there won't be no inner circle-outer circle divide.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And you say we're talking about strange things. Spaceship?

Spaceship. Whole bunch of metal bits that fly through space.

I know what a spaceship is. You think it'd be resistant to radiation?

There's enough radiation in space that hulls usually are. Even better if you built it out of whatever this damn bubble's made of.

I take it you came here from a spaceship.

Finest craft in the verse. Haven't been planetside for this long of a stretch in a good while.

That's damn fascinating. Rube Sofer. Heights don't sit well with me, but I hope you figure your predicament out soon enough.

Once you're up, you're so far up height's meaningless. I've known men who couldn't stand on a chair without getting a little dizzy to be fine fliers. Still, mostly I keep getting promises from a bunch of rollerblading kids that they'll get me my sky back. I just sit and wait. Not much I can do.

Really. I'd like to test that theory.

To be truthful, I don't think there's much any of us can do.

If I get skybound, I'll save a seat for you.

Also, your friend's been unconscious on the floor of my bar for near half a day now. Normally I wouldn't interfere direct-like, but he's beginning to sleeptalk and it's putting the other alcoholics off their metholated spirits.

Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.

Jesus fucking fuck. Stringy British boy? Kick him a few times and tell him to get his ass to Der Waffle Haus before Rubey throws him into rehab. If he still doesn't move, I'll come down and collect him myself.

Captain Reynolds, but you can call me Mal, like most everyone who ain't working for me does.

That's the one. I'll let you know if he's still here in an hour.

It's a pleasure, Mal. Perhaps I'll visit your bar for purposes beyond kicking Mason's ass one day.

He will be, by the by.

what the fuck, are you bonding with my bartender?

It may come in handy some day.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only