Exit post.

[badinlatin]

It was late last night, when the door appeared again.

Mal had spent the rest of the night and into the morning writing out notes for those he had had a chance to speak to in his time here.

There was a boy I met here, from Corellia. He is a slave; I have given him our names - if he contacts you, help him.

- Mal.

Kaylee --

There are no words in her note; just a small sketch of a cat.

River --

You are a good friend, in our way. Please let me beat you at chess at least once in my life?

-- Captain.

Inara --

Thank you. There is nothing more I know how to say beyond that, but thank you.

-- Your Malcolm.

"Would you deliver these for me?" the old man, now dressed again in that same jacket and tie he had been wearing when he arrived, asks Bar. She promptly takes the notes, and Mal turns to the front door.

What if he can't come back?

It doesn't matter, Mal decides finally, and with a smile on his face.
My turn.
The heel-heel-tap strides up to the door, turning the knob, and walks through the door like he doesn't have a care in the 'verse.

Because right now? He doesn't.

Good day.

[ooc: Thanks, all. Truly. :)]