milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Yes, it is a Cap'n.

Might be hard to recognize really, as he is not wearing his traditional duster and suspenders; can't deal with 'em sitting over his fun new soon-to-be pretty scars, y'see.

Slipping his way to the Bar pretty much unnoticed - he thinks - he picks up some hot tea and finds an overstuffed chair and ottoman somewhere near the observation window.

[OOM: Mal is off for the night, as mun cannot sleep through her alarm clock again tomorrow. If one is particularly interested, tag for a slowtimed convo tomorrow.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Though, I catch wind of an Acpocalypse, I'm getting you guys out."

"Agreed."

"We do not need another apocalypse at the moment."

"Yeah, well, I'd have to stay behind, but I'd want you guys out of the line of fire. End of World bad, and all."

Mal chuckles softly and lets the subject drift off.

"Faith? I'm *really* happy to be getting old this year."

"Ah, not that old, surely...you can't be more than, what? Fifty?"

Mal gasps in indignation, spitting out a tight "33" before continuing a pout in his chair.

Faith grins.

"Eight years older than me! You're a baby, still."

"Ain't no baby, Faith - seen 'n done too much for bein' a baby."

"Mm, guess that's true."

Faith grins, wryly. "Of us both, really. I was 16 when I was Called, y'know."

"Called what?"

"...Called to be a Slayer."

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

Mal totally knew that.

"...Drafting," Mal makes a connection out of nowhere.

Faith nods.

"Something like that, I guess. Except, you know, they don't generally give you your very own demon when you join the army, that I'm aware of. And Slayers come with one built-in, for the strength and all that."

Mal is trying to be funny. Really.

"Soldiers get demons after they join the army, actually."

Faith's eyebrows go up.

"...the inner kind?"

"No, a little gremlin that sits on your shoulder threatenin' to pull out all o' the pegs in your grenades."

"Yes, Faith, the inner kind."

Faith winces and looks down at her hands, apologetic.

"Sorry."

[Suuuuuch an idiot.]
Mal winces at his comment and Faith's reaction. "I'm sorry, Faith. Demons are bound to get ornery old men all crotchety. Pay no mind."

Faith looks at her hands for another minute, then looks back up at him.

"...shooting range, huh?"

"Yes. Please."

"Damnit, I don't have my gun on me."

Faith grins, patting his shoulder carefully.

"It's just as well. You finish healing up...I'll go back to my world and, uhm, figure out where I am and what month and year it is..."

"Sounds like a plan. 'Sides, this is my vacation." Mal kicks his feet back up on his ottoman and feigns a spaghetti-western sleeping posture.

Faith snickers and stands up, ruffling his hair.

"Sweet dreams, Captain Schmoopy-pants," she says, cheerfully, and then walks away.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only