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Wash ambles in, looking rather more unkempt than usual. Not that he ever looks particularly, er, kempt, but his Hawaiian shirt seems markedly less bright for all the flecks of engine grease on it, and there are a few broad smudges of the same stuff streaking his forehead and hands. It's been a busy, busy day.

He pauses by the messageboard, silently reading the notice, and draws his bottom lip between his teeth, considering, for several long moments. Back out the door he goes.

Fifteen minutes later, he returns with a single grey blanket folded under his arm. It's the only thing he can think of that wouldn't be missed, or that the crew could afford to spare if things went south for the umpteenth time. With no clue as to where to drop it off, he heads over to the bar.

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*A four foot tall... humanoid creature... completely covered in a purple space suit (with a cape!) staaaaaares at the engineer (obviously--grease stains) in the Hawai'ian shirt.*

Wash's neck starts prickling in that uncomfortable way that means he's being watched, and he turns around.

A purple, four foot tall humanoid creature should not come as that big a shock to him anymore. Really. But he fumbles his grip on the blanket all the same, and, once he's recovered, staaaaares right back at him.

(Her? It?)

*~~Dexter~~ Head Alien peers at him* Nahh. He was dark haired. And... *He gestures vaguely with his hands. Well, one hand and a claw* Hornier.

Sh*&, you scared me there, Babalouie.

Wash does the only sensible thing: he blinks, then looks down at himself. Well, Zoe used to remark that his shirts were a whole other level of terrifying....

"Yeah," he says, dryly. "I've heard I do that. Must be the hulking physique. Uh, who exactly are you?"

I'm the Head Alien.

You reminded me of somebody else for a moment.

"....Right." Wash squints down at him. You know, with all that purple, he kind of looks like a midget Alliance soldier gone seriously overboard. It's almost cute, in a violently disturbing way.

"So. Alien, huh? How's that working out for you?"

Pretty lousy. All my followers double-crossed me and then an angsty girl stabbed me in the back and I died for the third time. *His visor narrows, giving the impression of an expression of grouchy petulance* But hey, no yellow stripes here, so. *He shrugs*

"Let's skip the part where I ask what 'yellow stripes' means and go back to where you said you died for the third time?"

Someday, he's going to walk in here and just curl up in the fetal position in the middle of the bar.

Yeah. Died twice. Didn't stick. Third time was like fifteen minutes ago and here I am. Guess I'm just lucky.

A nervy laugh. As he presses the heel of one palm to his temple: "Or exceptionally talented. Ever thought of making a career of it? I'm sure you'd do very well. Most people I know, the only die the one time, and while we're on the subject, mind if I ask what's with all the purple?"

*He shrugs* The suits only come in purple. All you can do is accessorize. *He swirls the cape a little vainly, and poses with the huge clompy boots a bit* Nothing says "I own you" like boots and a cape.

"What about a really big gun? I think a really big gun would work better. Not that I'm advocating you go out and buy a really big gun, but for the sake of argument...."

I had a really big gun. It turned people into pirates. *He sounds kind of wistful.*

"Hm. Did it now. That's...certainly a deadly and powerful weapon." One eyebrow starts a steady climb up his forehead, and he moves the blanket out from under his arm to hold in front of him, just to add that tiny extra barrier between himself and the crazy tiny purple person.

*Head Alien shrugs and does not mention he has built more deadly ones* Well, I did the best with what I could. Not a lot of advanced technology handy. Very primitive planet, Earth.

That gives him pause -- more in the "well, this is intriguing..." way this time and less in the "plotting the quickest escape route" way. He lowers the blanket.

"Where are you from?"

Denver, Colorado.

His forehead crinkles, eyes widening briefly in surprise. "Guài yì de. What're the odds," he mutters, then, "No, I mean, where're you from that ain't on Earth-That-Was?"

Oh! We come from the planet Alien.

It would be great if there really was a planet called "Alien" in Wash's 'verse. Sadly, there's not, but he figures he has no room to mock the name --

Wait, what is he talking about? Of course he does.

"Well. A planet with a name like that, people know you mean business," he says. "No mistaking you for any of the other hundreds of alien's that're -- hey, wait, are there really hundreds of different kinds of aliens where you're from?"

So much for the sarcasm. Here comes the insatiable curiousity.

Why, do you know about hundred of different kinds? *He sounds curious.*

"Nah, you're the first one I've met. I think. Who the hell knows in this place. But everybody's always wondering about them, if they're real or not, if we're ever gonna find them, why we haven't found them yet when you'd think we ruttin' well should have..." He tilts his head, thinking. "Or maybe that's just me. I don't know. So, are there?"

Nah, just us and the Martians. They aren't from Mars really, though--they're a pan-galactic empire. Surprised you haven't run up against them yet.

Wash snorts. He can't help it. "We got our own pan-galactic empire to deal with, thanks. I think another one would kill us all."

[ooc: and I'm about to head off to sleep. slowtime or wrap?]

[OOC: We can wrap, but HA will definitely come look him up again. He's... intrigued.]

[ooc: Dude, absolutely. This guy's a hoot. Good playing with you!]

[ooc: OMGsomuchiconlove.]

Zot is perched somewhere.

With a good view of this person.

In such a place as he has a good view of her, too.

She prowls towards him.

"Mrr?"

Hey, a cat. Wash is more or less ambivalent to all things small and fuzzy, but, remembering the whole bit about how people around here tend to turn into small, fuzzy things, he doesn't go kicking it across the room or anything. (Not that he would do something like that to begin with, but you know.)

"Hey, kitty." He slings the blanket around his neck and crouches down, reaching a hand toward it.

She sniffs cautiously at his hand, and is apparently in a friendly mood because she promptly starts petting herself on his hand and purring faintly.

Wash is a smart man, he'll probably see that there's a tag on her collar that reads "Zot."

Wash smiles faintly, scritching the cat behind its ears before trailing his hand down to the tag. "Zot, huh?" he murmurs. "So who do you belong to?"

She belongs at least vaguely to Kestrel, as it happens, but unfortunately her tag fails to mention this.

At being scritched, her purr multiplies by a factor of about four.

All that purring's making it vibrate like a Gurtsler, and he can't help but chuckle a little as he runs his hand down its back, ears to tail. "You're a friendly one," he comments. "Or maybe just really, really sneaky. Yeah, any minute now you're going to claw my hand up -- you're just trying to catch me off guard, aren't you? Devious little furball."

...Of course, at no point in the above speech does he stop petting Zot.

And fortunately for Wash, as he does not stop petting her, she continues to purr, instead of unleashing Doom On Four Paws.

And after all, as Zot is one of the actually fully-grown cats in the bar, instead of simply one of the kittens... she is mature enough to be very devious indeed, while appearing not to be so at all.

She has also learned that it pays more to befriend people in order to get scritchings and pettings and feedings.

Wash continues petting Zot for a few minutes more, then, oblivious to the consequences about to befall him, gets to his feet and gently nudges her with the toe of his shoe. Still smiling, "Okay, xin gan, that's all you're gonna get from me. Go on. I got places to go, donations to make, and I bet your owner's wondering where you ran off to."

He pulls the blanket from around his neck and starts to walk away.

And, in the interests of not further slowtiming this thread, as the kittymun did not get nearly enough sleep and would like to rectify the situation, Wash is very very lucky.

So she only sulks a little, and instead goes off towards the fireplace to take a nap.

"Oy, Washman, how'd the strawberries go over?" Ace calls when she looks up from her notes to see who was walking through the door.

Wash brightens when he catches sight of Ace, giving her a cheerful wave hello. "Ace, hey!" he calls. "Long time no see. They went over great!"

Meet Ace, creator and patent-holder to the wicked grin.
"Back for more then, loverboy?" Working on explosives makes Ace... interesting.

He snorts out a laugh. "Come on, you know I can't be doing it too much now. Eventually she'll figure out it's the only sneak attack I've got at my disposal, and then where will I be? I ask you."

"Oranges?" Ace asks innocently. Well, as innocently as someone can while grinning wickedly.

"Ah, yes, citrus: it wards off scurvy and guarantees me at least another two weeks of marital bliss. Good thinking there." He's still trying not to burst into outright laughter. It's harder than it seems with the way she keeps grinning at him like that. Sneaky little girl.

"So how've you been? Had to fight off any rebellious mittens without me?"

"Nah, all quiet on the woollen front." Ace reports airly. "But the scarves are plotting something, I just know it." Hmm, this game's fun. Much more fun than going over her calculations again.

"Damn it, and here I was spending all my time watching the hats. See, this is why I leave all the strategic maneouvering to Zoe." He sighs dramatically and drops into a seat next to her.

"Probably wise. That way you can concentrate on other things. Like citrus." Ace notes primly.

Wash's smirk turns into something a little more rueful. "Somehow, that makes me feel a lot less manly all of a sudden," he says, then leans over to try and get a look at her notes. "So do I get to be nosy and ask what you're working on?"

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