Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The woods are dark and deep, but not particularly lovely. If anything, they feel dangerous, as if something terrible might come lurching out from behind any given tree and tear into the nearest warm body. What that terrible thing might be is anyone's guess. A cat with hands? Slenderman? Stegosaurus? Actual cannibal Shia LaBeouf? All of the above in a horrible mob? It's anyone's guess. But every dreamer will be absolutely convinced that there is something unspeakable out there, and that it's after them.

The dreamers have two things on their side. The first is that there is actually nothing dangerous lurking in these woods (with the possible exception of other dreamers). The pervasive terror the dreamers are feeling is just that: a rift-given feeling, nothing more and nothing less. That snapping twig or rustle in the undergrowth is almost certainly just a squirrel or something else equally harmless.

The second is that no dreamer is alone. They all will be reunited with - or introduced to - their dæmons, a source of comfort in this dark, intimidating wilderness. However frightened the dreamers might be, at least they have someone with them who definitely doesn't want them dead.

[OOC: as ever, any and all are welcome! You don't have to be in the game to join the fun. Dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. And the party only stops when you want it to; feel free to backtag forever.]

Comments

[lottawork]

"I am fine," Rush hisses in diction that is nothing short of perfectly adequate and not lacking in the consonant precision area at all. He would get up were it not for the ridiculous presence of the weirdly domesticated fucking panther draped over his chest. He makes an obvious jerking motion with his admittedly jellylike limbs as if to rise, but she makes no movement to make this easy for him. Fine. That's fine. He is going to lie here looking at the under-canopies of simulated trees and try to look nominally dignified, as if that is even remotely possible at this point, while conversing to this trigger-happy man and his horse. Then again, Rush has been traveling with a panther for a good while now, so perhaps he is not in the best position to judge which, of course, means that he will judge, harshly and without reservation.

He takes a long moment to process the absurdity of the offer for help. He glares at the man, incredulous and full of scathing disbelief.

"You fucking shot at me," he snarls, pouring as much scornful disdain into each word as humanly fucking possible. "What did you think was going to happen? Is it not the typical expectation that if one is going to - to meander aimlessly about shooting at people that death would be a statistically probable result? What in the name of fuck -"

To Rush's supreme outrage, his next verbal riposte of perfect scintillating contempt is lost in a storm of coughing. Nathaira rumbles something that sounds sympathetic if that were a thing panthers could relate via poorly quantifiable chest rumbling noises, and shifts to free up his airway. Thank fuck.

He has lost the grasp of what he's certain was a perfectly structured deconstruction of the man's comparably poorly assembled defense of his actions, so all he manages once it feels safe to vocalize again is a seething outburst of -

"Of course I fucking fell. What the fuck did you expect?"

[captain_mal]

Well now no need for him to be all sorts of insulting, after all Mal is just trying to offer some help.

He stands himself back up, arms folded over his chest and frowning down at the man not exactly upset, that's not what he'd call it, more like mildly affront is all. At the same time the stallion moves up from behind him, standing next to Mal and giving a snort of disapproval. Likely, Mal images, because it makes a rather unnatural picture seeing a man flop about on the ground while a panther calmly stretches out over him, but part of Mal would like to believe that he is just as insulted on Mal's behalf over the man's comments and general behavior.

"That's something of an overreaction," Mal drawls, trying his best to sound level-headed and not in the least bit aggravated. Either way, his voice has dropped any attempt at friendliness he'd been trying to make only moments back. Which seems only fair seeing as the man not only went refusing his offer to help but then had to go start hurl insults his way. "Shot was meant for Fluffy there," Mal explains, nodding at the panther. "Besides, it didn't so much as graze him. Just meant to scare him off is all."

"If I'd wanted to shoot him I very well could have, seeing as he's the one that came out attack my horse." Mal doesn't feel the need to explain how the stallion ain't actually his at all, just something he happened to wander into while he'd been looking for his way out of this place and then randomly decided to take a risk protecting it's skin when it shouldn't have meant a gorramn thing to him. That's all somewhat personal, not too mention a bit complicated to go and explain to a man who couldn't even understand the difference between where Mal's gun had been pointed. "A man's got a right to protect what is his, don't he?"

It's hard not to add, "'Specially when folks round here apparently go sneaking around the woods with panthers." So far Mal'd done a fair job at sounding reasonable despite the other man's lack of showing any in return. But that might slip out just a tad more pointed than it could have been said, but, well, it's nothing short of the truth. What did the man expect? "Should be thankful I settled on a warning shot."

Kind of goes without saying that if Mal had actually been shooting at the man, well, he'd be down on the ground suffering from far more than mere fright, but again, it don't seem like the most appropriate time to go bringing that up.

[lottawork]

"Oh for fuck's -" He levels his glare upon the panther. "Fuck off, would you? I am fine."

Nathaira gives him a look that very obviously says that she does not think he is in any way fine, thank you very much, but his tone must have been adequately forceful enough for her to grudgingly oblige. She slides off his chest and stalks away in a show of absolute indifference that Rush, in some distant, indifferent part of himself wishes he could emulate.

With a frankly really fucking impressive amount of coordination for someone who recently underwent a triggered panic reaction, Rush flips himself to his feet and seizes the nearest tree trunk for support, then transfers his venomous glower to the shooter in question.

Long brown coat, suspenders - what, is he from some kind of fucking pre-technological advancement Western civilization? Evidently not, since he has a gun and is very much capable of using it. But what in the fuck. Is this how Americans typically dress? Rush was not under this impression, unless the selective quantity of Americans he's encountered in the past were exceptions from the rule. Or is this person a deviation from the mean? He's inclined to believe so; no civilization of suspender-clad trigger-happy persons could last long enough to produce an individual with this level of deficiency in the realm of common fucking sense.

"She wasn't attacking anyone," he snaps waspishly with absolutely no volume control. "We were passing through, for fuck's sake. We were - I was lost. Not my fault someone put a - fucking equine in the way." Rush gestures at the horse with an unchecked snap of a wrist, flinging one hand at it in an entirely accusatory matter, having singularly decided to blame the horse for the sum of his problems. That factors as a safe course of action at the present time. The horse isn't likely to care. Rush doesn't care. Why should he? The man shot at him, a completely unprovoked course of action that triggered an automatic panic response. He is well within his rights to be appropriately pissed about it.

[captain_mal]

Mal and the horse in question share another glance, one that asks can you even believe this man has the tài dù gāo​wán to go on suggesting that this whole mess is somehow their fault? Like they are the ones stalking around in a shady forest along side a huge, black beast of prey? The stallion even gives what sounds to Mal to be a snort of pure disbelief, and the captain can hardly blame him for it at all. Feels pretty damn near offended himself, what first with the accusations that he doesn't know how to shoot straight (which the man still ain't seem to have gotten through his head) and now this? Honest to God he almost knows how frustrated Inara must get all those times when she asks him if he's even paying any attention.

Now there is a small part of him that thinks the man might not yet be in his full senses. After all, he's clinging to that tree pretty tight and don't seem to be having much luck staying upright of his own free will. Could be his brain got all shaken up in the fall so he just don't know what he's saying. Might be a fair explanation for why he keeps insist Mal shot at him when he's clearly just told'em he did no such thing, and what he did shoot at he had no actual intentions of hitting. Impossible for him to be any more clear on that point so he's not understanding why it is the man keeps on bringing it up. Is he looking for Mal to go and apologize? Because there is no way in ruttin' hell Mal's going to be apologizing over something entirely in the man's own head. That is his own personal problem he's just going to have to deal with by his lonesome, don't matter how shaken up and upset he might be.

This is precisely the sort of thing Mal can get so stubborn about. It's the kind of decision that, once he's made his mind up ain't a power in all this 'verse that could move him on the matter. No sir, there would be absolutely no apology coming his way, not if he waited a hundred life times. He could keep cursing and accusing away, Mal's not about to budge from his position on the matter, not an single ruttin' inch.

Unconsciously, Mal's taken a stance reflecting this, and you would swear that despite not being the same species and all him and the stallion shared a strange quality about them at the moment. An unspoken but very clear obstinacy that ran through both with a strong sense of resolve underlined by a streak of rebellion that went far deeper than either were likely to let on. Something in the way they set their shoulders, perhaps, or held their heads just slightly cocked as if daring something to push up against them and see how far they moved. Definitely in that moment Mal takes on the qualities of an old, stubborn stallion who never took to being gated up and isn't about to stand for it a second longer.

Not that the man had even demanded any sort of apology, at least not formally, but now there is a definitely part of Mal just silently daring him to even try just as to let him pointedly refuse.

"Now I ain't the one whose keeping a panther around like a gorram pet here," Mal replies, and his tone keeps getting a little more authoritative and hard set with every push. He'd tried playing nice and the fellow all but straight up refused. "Let an animal like that go stalking through the trees leaping out at folks of course it's gonna cause trouble."

Earlier, when the man had been laying flat on his back and even before that when it seemed like the old bronco was being cornered in Mal'd considered just walking off, avoiding the inconvenience of the situation all together and looking out for himself first. Now it's fairly obvious no one is in any sort of immediate danger, and yet instead of just turning around and disappearing into the woods which would seem to prove easy enough given the conditions, Mal has to stay, poking and prodding and escalating the whole dispute well past when a better man would have.

[lottawork]

"I didn't fucking ask for it to follow me," he hisses, now barely able to contain the crackling, rifting vortices of anxiety and rage and frustration that are spiking well past what is an acceptable magnitude. For an ominous minute his vision blurs and he has to halt to snatch blindly at a stabilizing breath; apparently the triggered panic response is not done fucking with his biology yet. How very fucking excellent.

"It just - she won't leave," he continues, refusing to be derided for the presence or appearance of or anything related to this completely illogical, irrational, uncooperative beast. So, indignant, apoplectic, in full possession of his crisp and flawless and merciless diction, he surges onward. "I'm not fucking keeping it."

He shoots a murderous look at her, and she has the temerity to stare back in baleful elegance, in full awareness that she is probably the most dangerous thing in the immediate locality and that he should be treating her as such. Despite the fact that she is - as far as the not-altogether-helpful Truant man explained with no scientific backing or heuristic evidence whatsoever - a manifestation of, what? His inner being? The parts of himself he'd rather not see? He has a full awareness of those already and simply, apathetically, unequivocally, has chosen not to care about the less savory parts of himself one way or the other. The already poorly defined parameters of this simulation could have picked any number of more accurate or interesting or painful shapes to represent him or his inner demons or what-the-fuck-ever than an ordinary if oddly occasionally-domesticated panther if emotional torment was what it wanted from him; otherwise he's going to assume the simulation simply wishes to harvest mass amounts of his scalding irritation, which Rush is fully prepared to dispense on the nearest unlucky third party in its entirety.

[captain_mal]

At first Mal is thinking maybe this man really has shaken some part of his brain loose. After all, if he's following along here than the man is suggesting that he just happened upon a fully, well trained panther that he'd never met before in all his life and yet this dangerous yet somehow domesticated animal decided to randomly take such a shine to him as to stay by his side with the loyalty of a dog?

Well either the man is crazy or else he figures Mal is because no way in all the nine realms of hell is that a true and honest story. For starters, from what he's shown so far the man hardly has a shining personality. Hard to imagine anything taking an instant liking even a murderous, solitary beast.

Then to expect Mal to believe someone took all that time properly training a panther only to have it get separate from them and lost in the woods? It's one thing to walk upon a horse, sure, especially the sort of horse Mal had come across. Something about the stallion leads Mal to believe that had any previous owner he might have had tried to lock him away the only thing wouldn't have stood for it, not at all, and it's easy to see how such a headstrong and really near wild animal could wind up lost and without their keeper anywhere about. A panther, though? That's a very different story.

There is another possibility, it just doesn't occur to Mal until after the man is all the way through his ranting and grumbling. After all, now he's saying that he's trying to get rid of the thing and that is a whole 'nother thing all together if the man brought the panther all the way out here just trying to set it free. It almost sounds like the right thing to do, it's a wild animal at heart after all and Mal can't imagine being happy spending your life living caged up when your meant to be roaming out as your please. Then again, suppose he should have taken that into account before he took the thing in in the first place. Now it seems the panther is good and happy where it is and doesn't have any plans to go anywhere else. Well, course not if that's the case. Probably got snatched up as nothing more than a kitten sized thing and bee raised by human hands since then.

Now he's grown and proving nothing if not a strong sense of loyalty and the man is just trying to abandon it to the woods? That hardly seems right by Mal's mind. "Listen here, that poor animal might have just gone and saved your life," Mal points out, motioning towards the panther without a terrible amount of weariness anymore, he's so caught up in the argument he forgets to be afraid of much. And if this much is true, well, he for one is on the panther's side. "Once you take something in under your roof, under your care, then it's your responsibility, don't matter what else happens short of it turning on you and your kindness. Seems to me that ain't the case at all, that this here animal is nothing but loyal to you and yours, and yet you can't even take proper and full responsibility for it?" Mal snorts, having absolutely no respect for this sort of person. You have to look after what is yours, even if sometimes they can seem to be more trouble than they are worth and constantly in need of saving, you said you'd take'em in now you have to watch out for them no matter the circumstance. It's just what a man does, it's that simple.

[lottawork]

For a minute Rush can only blink very rapidly and shake his head in an effort to wholly conceptualize the onset of immense, concentrated stupidity that's been directed at him. Then he has to process it. Extensively. And hammer out an appropriately acidic response.

"Do you have any idea how many logical fallacies you've committed in the past five minutes alone?" he snaps, figuring that to be the highest rhetorical offense and therefore as good a place as any to start attacking the foundations of this man's extremely self-oriented, mercurial moral standpoint. Rush won't even pretend he himself has a moral standpoint to speak of or has ever had one due to how (a) that would be a tremendous lie of massive personal proportions and (b) the nature of point (a) would mean he does not possess any significant authority to comment on the subject anyway.

"I've actually stopped quantifying them," he continues, an ever-escalating tirade reaching breathtaking proportions in seething, sarcastic intensity. "It's unbelievable. Leaving aside your completely unfounded, incorrect assumption that I have assumed any responsiblity for the cat - which I have not since it is not fucking mine and never was - you've just axially altered the basis of your argument several times in order to derail the original prime topic of discussion." He raises a finger, iron, absolute, admirably and viciously contained in a perfect inertial state. "Which is the fact that you tried, without question, to fucking shoot me."

Nathaira makes a faintly amused noise (how can a panther convey amusement that does not make any theoretical sense) and Rush gets the distinct impression that he just received the panther equivalent of sarcastic applause with a modicum of actual, exasperated sincerity buried alongside it. Possibly. How is he even methodologically dissecting the emotional display of what should be, by all rights, a lifeform that cannot possibly recognizably disclose emotive output in what is interpretable as a human manner?

[captain_mal]

So then, he really does suspect that Mal's just going to believe him about the whole randomly finding a domesticated panther while wondering around the woods deal, doesn't he? Iàn tā de gu this guy must think he is some sort of fool. You know, in truth Mal hasn't the slightest clue where in the known 'verse he might be, but he'd been going off the guess that its somewhere out on the border. Judging from the way this man had of talking down to him, though, it's got to be some place closer to the core, or at least alliance friendly.

Makes a strange sort of sense when you think on it a while. After all, folks n the core are ll sorts of spoiled and indulgent, just the sort who would go keeping wild animals as pets and then, when they're grown and they exoticness has worn off they probably just get rid of them without a second thought. Core worlds would be exactly the kind of places, too, that would build big incomprehensible forests you can't see through at all - probably consider it all part of the 'ambiance' - and stick them in the middle of some city probably beneath some sort of doom to keep out the noise and confuses the senses, making it near impossible to find ones way out without some proper guidance system. They probably clap themselves on the back, too, for preserving a piece of the worlds 'natural beauty' although there's very little natural about these forest as far as Mal's concerned. Yeah, that all sounds like exactly the kind of dà​tiáo these sort of upper crust folks would pull.

"For the last tiān​shā​de time," Mal growls, his muscles tensing up in the manner of a man who is ready for a fight and not just a yelling match. In point of fact, Mal's voice hasn't raised up much this whole time, and he's not about to start now. No, Mal's got very little trouble controlling his voice (seems to only be certain members of his crew that can get under his skin enough to make him start yelling and causing that sort of scene) it's just the rest of his temper he seems to be less able to keep in check, especially dealing with some guò​yú fú​kuā gāo​guì de hún​dàn who'd lie to a man's face just so he doesn't have to go taking responsibility for those that are his to care for. In Mal's mind, there is a special place among the many hells out there reserved just for these kind of folks. "I didn't shoot at you, wasn't even aiming you way! So I suggest you drop all the attempts at milking that drama 'less you're looking for me to show you what it'd be like if I'd actually been shooting for you." It ain't an entirely idol threat, either, not if this man keeps on insisting on pushing all the wrong buttons. Mal's patients is starting to be tested, and he's never been the brightest of students.

[lottawork]

"Are you using fucking Chinese as a quantifier?" The initial burst of fury has now curled into a deeply unfriendly sneer. "Is that meant to make you sound intelligent? Are you trying to sound educated? Is that meant to give you a lexical advantage? Because your execution of conversational English is so incredibly despicably poor in contrast, it makes one wonder."

Rush has absolutely no experience in Chinese or in any language beyond English and an impromptu expertise in Ancient, but that doesn't mean he won't sound knowledgeable about the subject, so he'll ride blindly off the assumption that the shooter is indeed speaking Mandarin Chinese and deconstruct his manifold grammatical failures and apparent Sinitic plebeian colloquialisms that will make for a solid oral cut-and-thrust to sweep the altercational legs out from under him.

[captain_mal]

That has to be, be far, one of the most sàng​xīn​bìng​kuáng bì​mù​sè​tīng pieces of hú​shuō​bā​dào Mal'd ever had the honor of hearing, and he lived on a ship with a crazy psychic, apologizes to the good doctor and his sister. The man's brain really had been rattled something bad. He's speaking pure nonsense, Mal's not even sure what it's meant to imply. From the tone of it all, it's suppose to be something of an insult, but as far as Mal's concerned might as well try insulting him for being able to walk. A lexical advantage? What the gorramn hell is that even suppose to mean?

It's enough to make a man laugh. Not a real, honest type of laugh that comes with a hearty smile such that you can't help but feeling good. Definitely, though, Mal can't help chuckling at the inherent unreason of it all, even if it ain't much of a good, solid laugh so much as simply taken back. So much so that Mal's not even sure what else to do, certainly not what to go and say.

Suppose he could understand the part about his speaking sounding a bit strange comes from. Folks on the core tend to like their talking a bit more proper-like, more with the upright prettiness that the likes of Inara or Simon tend to use while Mal, well, he prefers being somewhat less formalized way of conversating. It don't sound honest, least not to his ears, and he were he's from people prefer a simpler, more straight-forward manner of speaking, never much bothered with the fancified language. Goes to back up Mal's figuring the man has to be from some core world. Probably just ain't use to hearing what actual folks talk like outside his sheltered little existence is all.

Still, if that's the point he's trying to make than don't seem sensible to go implying at the same time that Mal's being all pretentious, especially not for something as silly as speaking Chinese. It's as if the man's honestly surprised about it when, well, regardless of he might think of the way Mal conversates or however he put it, it aint like Mal's shown no ability to string together basic sentences. Obviously he knows how to speak, but here now he's being accused of trying to use Chinese to sound all educated? Mal knows plenty of folks never once stepped foot in a school house and they can talk just fine, so it just doesn't make any sense. None at all.

"Son, I'm starting to suspect you took a harder spill than I thought," Mal points out, not holding back a bit of a knowing smile. Least now he's figured out why it is this fellow isn't making any sense about the panther, or how come it is he seems to honestly believe Mal shoot at him when it'd be pretty obvious to anyone with eyes or even just a perceptive blind man that he did no such thing, hadn't even been aiming his direction as a point of fact. "Think you need to sit yourself down for a while 'til you get your feet about you." Not his literal feet, of course, though to be honest the man doesn't come off as having the best hold over his physical balance anymore than his mental. "Maybe it'll do you some good. Calm your mood some and let the blood set your brain right, 'cause trust me, boy, right now you're not making very much sense."

Mal's tone has turned to the type you use with a child or the very, very drunk. The sort of casually condescending, not so much on purpose but because you're honestly not sure how much they can comprehend at the moment. Judging by the way he's been talking, Mal's guessing not too much. Not precisely friendly but more on the gentle side, although with a good dose of authority because right then and there the person just ain't thinking clear on their own and they pretty much need someone to guide them through until they sober up or their wits return. Otherwise just might hurt themselves or end up sounding even stupider than they've already managed, though in this particular case seems like that would have been something of a stretch.

[lottawork]

And then, ridiculously, abruptly, infuriatingly, the man starts laughing at him. An unfriendly, contemptuous sound, which is absurd because everyone knows that Nicholas fucking Rush is the prime dispenser of all things contempt- and sarcasm-related.

"Oh, fuck off," he snaps, an extremely ineloquent response especially when one considers the statistical average word count of the well-crafted educational responses he's had to this man's past obvious lunacy. "There's another logical fallacy, right fucking there, assumption of instability following a fundamental disagreement of opinion in order to further discredit my argument without actually taking the time to fucking listen to it."

Never mind that the assumption of mental instability is true, Rush is aware of this fact, has been aware of this fact for a large percentage of his life, and has decided that he, unequivocally, does not give a fuck. It has not held him back before and it will not now, no matter how fucking archaic the shooter's understanding of how panic and subpar mental states work may be.

"I am fine," he continues with savage abandon, in what is probably deeply unconvincing imitation of stability seeing as he is still fucking seething. "Neurologically, internally, mentally, cognitively, in all ways that one can be considered to be fucking fine. It's not my fault this fucking - dream and or simulation has evidently decided to lump me along with this - the fucking cat, then throw a man with poor aim and a breathtaking absence of common fucking sense and his horse at me without any warning whatsoever."

[captain_mal]

Whatever small amount of bemusement passes over him doesn't end up lingerin' too terribly long. "You see, there you go again. Keep coming back to the whole shooting incident like it's something the needs debating." By this point Mal can't help feeling this conversation is just about as productive as wandering about lost in these woods; for all the effort he's putting in seems all but impossible to make any sort of decent headway. Don't matter how long he's at it, the results ain't changing and he's left going in circles all over again. So he's gonna try explaining all this through one final time, but swear on the divine squishiness of the Buddha's belly if the man keeps up with his insistent misunderstanding Mal ain't gonna feel even a smidgen of guilt over what might follows. "You can dress it up as fancy as you want, might be a 'fundamental disagreement' over what happened in your own head, but it's hardly something one can go forming an opinion over. It's as simple as what happened and what didn't, and the facts here are I didn't take a single shoot your direction. Wasn't even properly aiming at the panther! You're telling me you've never heard of a gorramn warning shot?"

At this point Mal feels as if he's offered up just about every kindness one could extend to a man so against anything of the type. He tried helping him after his little incident only for the man to start cursing up a storm and then straight up lying to him, clearly thinking Mal is a border-born fool. Then once it's clear that he's speaking complete nonsense, well, Mal even tried to tell him as much, showing himself to be plenty willing to just go drop the whole of what came before since it's clear the fall (or possible the shot, but likely the whole part that came after with him hitting the ground) whacked something loose and he's not in his right mind. Even stood here explaining - multiple times which is multiple times more than he'd usually be bothered with, must be going soft in his old age - how he had the whole situation wrong and Mal'd never been shooting at him at all so he don't see how that is even still something being brought up.

Understandable if he's been as seriously rattled up as he's acting he might be feeling somewhat testy and Mal don't particularly clear how bad his brain got knocked about seems he's repeated himself more than enough to get through to him no matter what the state of his mind. Starting to seem more and more like wouldn't matter if he were perfectly fine he'd still be chéng​shí zuò​wéi yī​gè​rén yī​dàn tā yǒu nǐ zài tā de chuáng shǎng.

Now maybe if Simon were here he'd be able to do something more helpful, or if Kaylee were about she'd surely be able to lighten the mood just by being her yáng​guāng self but, well, this fellow happened to find himself with Mal. And Mal just didn't have the patients for folks in general, never mind liars and the likes. Definitely he's feeling what last of his calm he's kept about him quickly disappearing.

[lottawork]

Definitely a military type then, as if the immediately obvious tendency to eagerly employ violence weren't any former indication. This bodes extremely poorly for both of them seeing as Rush has made a firm point of neither liking nor trusting military types and has not historically had any great success in negotiating with them. They too often resort to attacking a problem literally and with considerable application of firearms and/or blunt force trauma, as if those are the only workable solutions available (statistically unproven). This man has, thus far, demonstrated a marked refusal to deviate from that mean. Disappointingly.

He crosses his arms, thoroughly unimpressed by his insistence on addressing the aim and trajectory of his ballistic projectile rather than the fact that he felt it necessary to shoot it in the first fucking place. He keeps stressing that point, as if it holds some sort of irrefutable weight in terms of the broader spectrum of this infuriatingly, nauseatingly circular discourse, which he neither cares for nor wishes to continue dwelling on.

"Obviously I've heard of fucking warning shots," he flashes back, voice dripping thick and heavy with caustic derision, as if the concept of a warning shot were common fucking knowledge which, for him at least, they fucking well are. "Not the point. The fact that you felt it was even fucking necessary in the first place to shoot instead of fucking asking who might be present like a regular fucking human being is more of what I'm getting at, actually."

Rush does not appreciate being shot at. It is starting to become a pattern at this point, the release of projectiles at him in varying levels of accuracy and accelerating force, and he does not appreciate that.

[captain_mal]

"Hey now, I ain't the one who keeps bringing it up!" Mal fires back, and by now it's clear he's going to be allowing this to just go right on happening even when he know damn well better. He's going to get caught up in a yelling match with a man whose probably shook up his brains so hard they don't seem to even be located in his head anymore, even though Mal knows plenty better than to let his temper get the best of him. 'Specially considering he's now feeling pretty confident this here has to be a core, or at least very alliance friendly, world which means more than likely they're being watched "for their own safety" even now, and when lawmen do arrive he doesn't think for a second they're going to prove to be fair and just in their ruling. No, they'll take one look at Mal and decided this zāng jiù dài pìyǎn nèi suǒ​ lā​shǐ quán is in the right on nothing more than the fact that Mal is the one holding the gun. The over abundance of supposedly lawful types and their general eagerness to exaggerate a man's crimes is one of the many reasons Mal tends to prefer avoiding these kinds of worlds.

That's all without even taking into account their population of panther owning head-sick liars, of course. Got to admit, this is a new one he'll have to be adding to his list.

Mal should know good and well to avoid this sort of confrontation. Beside him, the stallion seems to have not taken kindly to apparently being forgotten about and is making his presents pretty damn clear, nudging Mal hard with his snort. Almost like even the horse knows ruttin' better than to start up on this when Mal could just as easily walk away 'stead of sticking around and inviting trouble his way. But, well, he just don't how it's him that's being the unreasonable one! This man is clearly out of his gorramn mind and yet he keeps ranting on like the lunatic he is about all the wrongs Mal has done him. It ain't right being accused by a man when you're guilt of nothing more than exercising a little precaution and watching out for what's yours. No way Mal's just going to stand here and let blame be thrown his way when, if anything, he's been overly reasonable.

"Now, I can't speak for whatever fluffy little sheltered life you might have grown up all cozy in, but where I'm from when a man's lost in a creepifying piece of wú​fǎ jiě​shì sǐ woods and suddenly finds himself face to face with a gorram panther his natural instinct is going to be to protect himself and what's his! And you can bet your chǒu​lòu lǎo pìyǎn," And by now Mal's voice is unnecessarily harsh, and he can't help all but throwing his arm in the air because he can't believe he's got to go explaining this whole concept yet again. "Given a reason, wouldn't hesitate to act all over again." Well best he learns the lesson now than if he ever had the misfortune of heading out anywhere in the real verse where a man whose afraid to act - and who panics at the slightest sound of a fight - is sure to find himself on the wrong side of every deal.

[lottawork]

"Fluffy sheltered -"

Rush can't even bring himself to be appropriately fucking furious about that one. He simply can't manage it. He's reached the end of the proverbial fucking rope. The list of reasons he can no longer give a shit for anything this man has to say has extended into the vast and unknowable infinite to join the likes of π and e in levels of pure transcendental irrationalism.

He laughs, high and unrestrained, bordering a little worryingly on hysterical, because his life has been anything but.

"Do you have any idea," he says once he's regained fair control over his ventromedial prefrontal cortex, mildly breathless but bizarrely invigorated over the immensely freeing decision to no longer care about the shooter's ostensibly skewed perceptions of him, "what it is fucking like to grow up workin' two jobs, shipyards in Glasgow, right 'til your fuckin' twenties?" He can feel himself slipping into back into the thicker form of his native accent; he doesn't fucking care. It's liberating, really, to become aware of the astronomical levels in which he does not give a fuck in any conceivable shape or form.

"Or - oh, you're going to love this - gettin' fuckin' trapped on an old-as-all-fuck spaceship with eighty-or-so inept fucks who make a habit of puttin' you in a fuckin' headlock every other week or so on the grounds that they don't like you, and it dinnae matter what you do one way or t' other, they will always fuckin' hate you -"

His voice breaks. Deep humiliation over the vocal hiccup aside, he has no idea when this rant went from furious to really fucking personal, and there's no way this man has done anything become privy to this much information about him, but Rush - does - not - care.

[captain_mal]

"What, you mean to tell me people ain't taken in by your shiny personality?" It's probably... definitely not the kindness thing to go saying after someone spills those kind of details on themselves, not that Mal has any real reason to believe him seeing as he's rather sure the man's not so much as told him a single piece of truth yet. Besides that, though, well if he were looking for pity they're gonna be waiting around a long time, like right up until Serenity can locate him and Kaylee's around; that's probably his best bet if it's sympathy he's trying for because he's unlikely to get a drop of it from Mal.

He will say that if the man ain't just straight up lying, well, it ain't least don't sound like he had been born on a core-planet, not any of the good sectors anyway. Glassglow's no planet or moon or even major port, least not one Mal's heard of, so it's difficult to go guessing at what system he might be from. Well, still definitely not the true border worlds that much is a certainty. Hell, most of 'em don't have any real factories to speak of for one thing, and those folks would count themselves lucky if they were able to eek out even a single job so the hardship of him having work fails to leave much of an impression on Mal. Sure, it's good to know he isn't one of them folks whose just sat 'round living off what money his family name carries and having never worked in his life, but far as Mal concerns work is something one is often lucky to have. If he were any sort of decent person he'd be thankful for as much and carry it as a point of pride while showing a little bit of gratitude while he's at it.

Strikes him that a ship that can hold and requires a crew of eighty men, no matter how old and worn it might be (Mal actually bristles some when the man's saying as much since he certainly makes it sound like a terrible misfortune had been done to him, as though a good, trusty old ship is a hardship when from what Mal's seen a ship that's been flying for so long and been well loved the and cared for has proven itself a hundred times more than some shiny new model where you never do know what sort of problems could arise) well, it's got to be some kind of company ship, the kind where they pay you steady wages and there's always employment which means there's always fuel and food and the other things man needs in order to go on living and don't this fellow know how many folks out there have to go without those things? Hell, possible even it had even been a government ship, and wouldn't that just make his gorram day if this man worked directly for the alliance. Well, of course he would. Look at hm. Still, would have meant that regardless of if everyone on board hate him to the very core - and gee, really is hard to imagine why THAT might be, Mal thinks to himself with a role of his eyes - meant he would have never been in danger of starving to death or finding himself without shelter or floating in the black with no energy cells left, running on empty and with nothing left but prayer long after you've stopped believing in those sorts of fairy tales.

And for some strange reason, Mal decides it best to actually go and tell him all of this. Just starts ranting on 'bout how he should be damn well grateful since, "You ever been outside the core? I mean truly outside, to the edge of civilized planets?" Pretty clear from the way Mal spins the word civilized that he don't care for the whole concept but, well, don't know how else to put it this strange would understand. "You ever been out to those chunks of rock that are made of mostly dust and heat? Met the folks who have tried settling out there? Because it's a hell of a life, let me tell you, I've heard of entire settlements just slowly dying off one by one not six months after they land. Can you imagine how desperate you'd have to be to crawl into some junkers excuse for a ship just to travel to some rock you ain't never laid eyes on so you can try to dig out a living in the dirt? Folks like that, you think they'd even leave in the first place if they had much of a choice in the matter?"

Mal could do a pretty good impression of a father shaming a child when he had to, though usually he left such things to the good Shepard who is a mite more practiced at it than Mal, but in this case seems the boy needs a good talking to. Maybe it will straighten out his head some. "Plenty of us out there, we're grateful to find what work we can get. Don't matter much if it's at a factory or on a ship or chiseling your way through layers of rock and dirt trying to force food to grow where there ain't no soil. You do what you have to to stay alive, that's the they. Most people in this 'verse, they're just trying their damnest to make it through to tomorrow without starving, you don't think they'd be plenty glad to take up work on a ship even if it meant suffering the horrible fate of not feeling popular?" Mal snorts in derision, making his opinion on the matter pretty clear. Not that his words weren't doing a find job at just as much already.

"Never could stand folks who have more good fortune than they even realize and yet seem to only find any enjoyment in being able to whine about it," Mal adds the last part like he's not even speaking with the man anymore. Actually turns so he's saying it to the stallion for the most part, though it's pretty damn clear who the comment is meant for.

"Not that I ain't plenty happy for you and all, finding out you're not just some rich brat living off your family name." It really ain't much in the way of a compliment, but then it's not really meant to be much of one even if Mal did honestly mean it to a certain extent.

"Hope you didn't come all the way out here looking for some pity." Mal reaches out to scratch behind the old bronco's ear, a tick he had learned working back at his ma's ranch and that most of the horses there always liked well enough, and it seems even this wild fellow enjoys a good bit of attention. More than that Mal finds the connection to bring a strange sense of calm. At least he's no longer about to start yelling again, his voice going back to it's normal, nearly disinterested canter. "Better chance finding your way out of these woods than getting any from me. Xiè​zuì, just, well... Met my fair share of folks with far worse sob stories to share. Only so much sympathy a man has to share, and I'm afraid you missed the window on that one son, by a good long stretch."

[lottawork]

"What?" Rush shoots the man a look that questions, frankly and in many escalating volumes, if he's lost his mind, which he's now positive he's had. Are they not temporally synchronized? Rush doesn't think they're temporally synchronized. At all. "Have I ever been outside the core. You mean as in Earth. Yes, try several fucking billion light years from it. There are no inhabitable planets where I'm from, and the ones that do have breathable atmosphere are full of nocturnal alien slugs trying to fucking kill you. Or - worse."

Worse. Like them. But thinking about them would be counterproductive to Rush's current goals of tearing into his exceptionally poor debate partner's flimsy arguments that have practically no basis in any kind of reality Rush is used to. The man can't be from Earth which is a possibility, apparently, when one devotes one's life to hopping through stable wormholes. One of those lower-technology worlds, probably. Unless they really aren't temporally synchronized.

"And it was not employment," he hisses darkly. "It was an accident." Rush's accident that wasn't particularly an accident in the first place, but that's hardly relevant. "That ship was built millions of fucking years ago and - and we were constantly fucking running from - from blue skinny fucks that telepathically strip away - you - you do not know what it is we have to fucking - fight against -"

He's probably not making any conceivable sense to this man, even if he was from the start, but it's growing increasingly difficult for Rush to delineate any of it. He swings away from the other man to drive one palm into an eye socket and starts digging furiously, burn away the memories of them slicing into his neurological thought patterns with vicious precision then his skin a few times, without fucking anesthetic thanks, to examine how exactly he worked on a biological, physiological, cranial level. Rush doubts this man has any right to understand that part of him but he has quite simply, as previously noted, refused to give a fuck. He sincerely doubts the shooter will understand anything he's had to say, especially if they come from separate universes or time-streams, something that is also apparently possible, mostly courtesy of coronal mass fucking emissions. He just got fucking lucky about this one.

[captain_mal]

Well, that confirms it, then: this man is out of his gorramn mind.

Not that Mal hadn't suspected as much already but, well, he'd be willing to withhold his better judgement seeing how he'd near passed out in a panic which could have flustered him up not too mentioned addled his brain enough that even once he managed to get back up on his feet - though still didn't seem all that steady for a man claiming he didn't require a lick of help - he was still sprouting off pure nonsense, not even seeming to notice just how little proper sense he's making.

Also, truth be told, he just comes off as something of a complete and utter ass.

Now that might not seem all that fair a thing to say considering Mal us suppose to be showing some kindness here by giving the benefit of the doubt, but, well, to be fair to Mal only ever met for that to extend in as far as not immediately assuming the man to be totally of his rocker when his hysteria could have easily enough been from the sudden attack and violent collapse. On the other hand, ever since first offering this total stranger a hand up the man's gone out of his way to be a zìgaozìdà de pìyǎn. Possibly it just comes to his naturally, of course, and this is just this fellow's typical sunny personality but Mal's trying to be at least somewhat generous, although why'd he bothered when it's pretty much clear as day he's dealing with the sort of self absorbed petty bastard who wouldn't notice any kindness extended his way.

So that Mal felt pretty certain of, having figured it out a good while back and to say that the stranger hasn't been putting in the effort to go changing his mind on the mater is something of an understatement. If anything man's got a perverted sense of determination driving him on to make gorramn sure Mal knows how much as an ass he is willing to be. Gotten to the point where Mal's pretty much bored by the entire act. Bit like having Jayne on board, really. After a while you jut get use to his brutish demeanor and rude mannerisms. Don't make him any more likable or mean that Mal's about to let him get away with anything once he's crossed that line, but true enough that after you're stuck in close quarters with someone for weeks on end you develop a kid of immunity or at least feel less and less an urge to shoot 'em.

This strange is still definitely on the list for folks Mal wouldn't mind shooting if he had bullets to spare, but considering he don't know when he'll be able to reload and if this place is a core planet how seriously they take that kind of thing. In his own opinion always seems the closer you get to the core the more and more people fret and overreact to eve a minor scuffle. Don't male the man any less of a jerk who likely deserves it, just means that Mal's sensible enough to realize whatever small catharsis he get wouldn't be worth all the trouble surly come his way as a result.

'Sides, even Mal don't see the right in shooting someone whose clearly confused, and not in the same way Mal s just because he happens to be lost in these here woods and without any idea how he got here or where he left his ship. No, this man is one of those type who goes on about aliens living among us and people still populating Earth in secret using some sort of fancy faster-than-light teleporting to get what supplies they need from the newly terraformed worlds out here and then returning home. Mal's been around long enough to have heard all the conspiracy theories but this one... He's special, taking it to an extra level of hysteria Mal hadn't witnessed from many folks, and he's got an partially mental reader whose been living on board his ship for over a well now.

"Really thinking you might want to take that seat," Mal repeats his earlier advice, though he's not sure how much it's going to help since it's seeming less and less likely this is a passing instance. But Mal's not even sure there is a cure for thinking you've been kidnapped to work on an alien ship or live in the center of the Earth or whatever it was he'd gone rambling on - Mal'd given up on following too closely when he realized the whole thing was pure and utter nonsense. Doesn't leave him with a lot of suggestions he could offer or things he could do to help fix his actual brain so the best he could think of is just to try to get him to take is easy, rest up some. Or as Mal gently puts it, "Think it's best if you give yourself a good minute to getta go hold of your composure and calm right the hell down before you do yourself any harm, dong ma?"

[lottawork]

Rush drops his hands and swivels back around to give the shooter a look of complete and utter disgust.

"Don't presume to understand anything of what I am," he says flatly, perfectly fucking calm, "until you have been unmade, in every cognitive sense that matters, and had every neuron internally shredded and reconstructed without use of its original blueprint while you're stuck, trapped, in a tank of ionized water, because ionized water is fucking conductive and sensitive to electric shock if you aren't being cooperative enough. And then." His voice lowers to a hiss as he stalks closer, all tranquil, coiled rage in the base of his spine. "Then you can lie back and watch them cut into your chest, separate the layout of your ribcage, and learn all about the inner workings of the human body. Without anesthetic. While you watch. Awake. Paralyzed."

He retreats, bringing the hand up to rest protectively over his temple once more, application of faint pressure to the side of his head. The memory alone is -

No.

He drops back to lean against the nearest tree and resist the urge to comply with this man's demand and slide down it to sit on the ground; instead he stands, trembling imperceptibly, one set of fingers digging into the ridges of his skull.

No.

"Until then," he grinds out tiredly, "you can keep your judgments to yourself and fuck off."

[captain_mal]

The whole time the strange is explaining about his experience Mal can't help thinking it sounds familiar. Not exactly precisely familiar as if he's seen this played out or even heard all the details before, more like he's acquainted with such situations. Or actually just one such situation.

True, he don't know precisely what they did to River back before Simon got her out, and he's fairly sure he's got no true need to know. Had it pegged as nothing short of inhuman, and he's let himself become too attached to that xī​qí​gǔ​guài de bù​wá​wa of a girl if he don't even care to know the details of what they did to her. All the same, even without much in the way of proper description, something in the wording just put River in his mind. He can damn well imagine defining just what she went to with those sorts of words, that she's been in some way unmade.

On the one hand, if it's true, he's still got no worldly idea what to do with this stranger or even tell if he's got the right idea about him. For one, pretty certain that if Simon hadn't stepped in and the Alliance had gotten to finish the job they started that River's brain would... Well, likely would have been all sorts of messed up, but not in the same way. Wouldn't have come off so strong, and this fellow sure isn't doing any sort of decent job covering his crazy up if that's the case. Plus there is the question of just what to do with him if he had gone through the same little science experiment as River. Did it even matter to Mal? Maybe he should just walk off all the same, let this man go and find whatever trouble is looking for him because if he's wandering out here on his own and the alliance knows he's missing, well, Mal is sure there is plenty of trouble coming his way.

Then again, no way he could really tell if that is the case or not is there? Can't just go asking someone if they were kidnapped by the government who was trying to turn them into psychic assassins. Not without sounding damn crazy yourself.

Mal scratches at his temple, really trying to puzzle this one out. If there's something to be learned from this fellow that could help River, well, wouldn't feel too good about just walking off then. Also there's the whole matter of communication. Half the time never could understand a gorramn thing that girl says, and she tends to be a lot calmer of mind than this one. "Now when you say aliens...." No, that don't seem like the right place to start. River sometimes uses words different than how she means them, and Mal could easily see someone else's mind under the same kind of logic turning the doctors into aliens when they try and express it all out loud. "Listen," But Mal ain't any good at figuring out all that coded crazy talk and he sure ain't any good at speaking it. He's always been a more straight-forward talking individual, so he really don't see any other way to go wording himself but to just come out asking, "Any chance you're psychic or anything of that sort might be useful if someone was looking to make themselves an insane mind controlled assassin? Or, err, anything like that and the aliens, I suppose."

[lottawork]

Rush snorts. Psychic. Generalizations built on a slightly-more-acceptable hypothesis of abnormalized humans rather than an entirely different species. Obviously hailing from a lower-technology world. Acceptance of the theorem of aliens would be asking far too much from someone of that mental caliber, so Rush addresses the points that he believes will make the most sense to whatever kind of brain this man carries with him.

"If I were psychic," he replies, scathing vitriolic capabilities fully restored, "do you honestly think you could have shot at me and I wouldn't have known?"

He's assuming this man speaks the language of bullets. It certainly seems to be the case thus far. A soldier. A military man. Obedience and weaponry and no sense of imagination. Hence - no aliens. And no expectation for basic comprehension for anything Rush has just said, though at least the threat of being shot seems to have been significantly reduced.

[captain_mal]

For a moment, caught off guard by the reasoning which makes him sound like a logical and normal person very nearly, Mal gives a tiny nod and looks almost... not quite impressed, that's not it, but certainly like he's giving it due consideration.

Though figures he wouldn't have too much difficulty shooting River under the right circumstances. Not that he would, mostly on account of him getting himself unsensible attached to the poor girl. Partly because, well, even though the good doctor has never proved himself to be much of the fighting type Mal's not sure he'd want to see how far he'd go taken to that extreme. Boy has some darkness in him, you can see it under his buttoned up and proper surface, and Mal wouldn't want to be the one on the receiving end when it can boiling over.

"Well, to be honest, would depend a lot on how rational and clear your head was at the time, I suppose. Just 'cause your a reader don't mean you can chase down every single thought and see out into all possible futures... Least that's what I'm guess," Mal adds, so that, yeah, now it don't sound at all like he's got another one of the Alliance's little experiments hidden away on his ship. That should keep the sent well off if they do happen to be watching or catch up with this guy.

That's the conundrum right there. Say this stranger did come from the same laboratory where they unmade River. Wouldn't be at all wise to let the Alliance go getting their hands on him, and he might do so good for River depending on how much of the process he recalls and just how far gone his mind is. Then again, be a huge risk trying to take him with Mal back to the ship.

Not too mention he seems awful sure of the whole not being the psychic type. Now Mal can easily picture River lying or denying such things or going into one of her states where she can't seem to handle thinking about whatever it is they did to her, but the point is more that she never does sound too certain about very much. That's the big difference here, far as Mal could tell.

Plus the fact that the man's a total ass. Hell, hard to even get too upset about the government mind-torturing him and what have you seeing as, well, much as it's upsetting to have to agree with those guys with this one Mal can really understand where they were coming from.

"Also!" Mal glares at the man, snapping somewhat back to attention and pointing and accessory finger again. "For the last gorramn time, èrbī I didn't shoot at YOU." Ain't that hard to understand is it! Well surely he ain't psychic, Mal decides, he ain't even halfway smart.

[lottawork]

The exhaustion following the initial burst of constricted panic in his chest, then the immensely tiring outburst, has begun to settle along the ridges of Rush's vision in earnest. He no longer has any energy to debate over the trajectory of bullets, and waves away the man's frustration with a weary flap of a hand. The other hooks itself over its adjacent shoulder and applies a slow, deliberate pressure to the noduled skein of pained muscle. Pain historically increases neural productivity; the additional receptors fire off their chemical mixture, and stimulate the senses that might be allowing themselves to grow dull.

"Hardly matters one way or the other," mutters Rush tiredly, stumping back to the tree that seems to be turning into his chosen companion for emotional support rather than the panther that is now resolutely ignoring him and cleaning between her toes. Fine. Good. Fantastic. Maybe now he can leave her somewhere. "It's a fucking - simulation. Dream."

His eyes flick up to study the shooter dubiously, one eyebrow slanted upwards in casual judgment for everything he represents. Surely if his subconscious wanted to manifest the military mindset Rush so unequivocally loathes, it could have chosen fucking Colonel Young or any number of equally martial, emotionally volatile individuals Rush knows on a regular, antagonistic basis and not - whatever low-technology, poorly developed planet this man is obviously meant to typify.

"No idea what my subconscious is trying to tell me with you," he continues with a quiet snort, hardly definable by that term, more a dry and forceful exhalation utterly lacking in mirth. "You're a symbol of some kind, I'm sure, though I've yet to see the relation between obvious military history, an over-attachment to typical Western entertainment archetypes, and fucking Chinese as profane slang." He ticks off this man, this shooter, this fucking symbol's many idiosyncrasies off on worn fingers, loses the motivation to complete the infinitely stretching mental list aloud after three, then finishes with a vague annular hand gesture to indicate his complete loss as to what the simulation could be trying to communicate to him with this.

[captain_mal]

See, now where back to him sounding more like River in calling this some sort of simulated dream. Can't help wondering if this stranger is something of a science experiment who manage to escape the lab through one means or another how long has he been living on the outside - not so long, Mal would imagine - and how much of it has been spent lost in these woods. Chùsheng, could be the alliance base ain't even far from where every they're standing in which case wǒ niǎo tā de that could be a lot more trouble than he's prepared for.

Course hard to say for certain where they even are, never mind what alliance facilities might be around. Most of that depends on Mal getting a read on this fellow, a tasks that seems potentially impossible considering it look like he's moods shifting all over again, and now he's informing Mal how he's nothing more than a symbol in his head?

Mal snorts at the thought. There's an old Chinese saying about the uselessness of arguing with a madman. "Afraid you're dead wrong about that right there as well." Mal never had bee very reasonable when it comes to taking good advice. "I'm don't symbolize a damn thing."

Use to be a time way back when that you could argue Mal use to have a symbol worth standing for, but that's all ancient history now. He'd been nothing more than a greenhorn and a foolish one at that, the kind of idiot nobody who thought things like ideals and such meant any gorramn thing in this 'verse, that they were something so valuable a man should be willing to risk his life on them. Like he said, it had been way back when, long before he learned all the harsh lessons one has to study up on damn fast if they've got any sort of plan to keep on breathing. Symbols don't really mean anything once you take'em down and try holding onto them when you got nothing else. They're all empty inside, not so much as air to fill them up 'cause at least air keeps a man alive. Symbols are for the naive who don't think they need anything to survive, and the desperate who don't have any chance of it.

These days Mal is old and tired and smart enough to have learned it doesn't pay a man a single thing to stick to some intangible principals. Won't buy you full or keep your belly full or save you from being killed - likely to end up doing just that as a matter of fact. Would rather just get along living simply, not putting too much stock in what's past.

The old bronco at his side apparent decides he's been ignored well long enough and best way to fix such a thing is to go make a damn nuisance of himself. He nickers, lowering his head and knocking his snort against Mal's coat to get his attention. What is he trying to noise at his pockets, see if he had any treats? Mal gives the horse a sideways look telling him to cut out such nonsense and swatting him away. He ain't his owner, and if he's looking for that kind of treatment well than he can go back to searching through the woods for what he wants like the rest of them.

"I'm no- knock it off now or I'll send you back the way I found you," Mal interrupts his ownself with the ideal threat, pointing right at the horse to make himself damn clear he's not about to put up with any begging from the beast. The stallion snorts, more or less getting the message and not seeming all to pleased with it at that. "Not military, either. I'm a captain of a cargo ship. A civilian ship," he adds to make that point perfectly clear. Not that Mal is ashamed of his time in the war, just don't feel the need to go over complicating things by bringing it up when it ain't all that necessary is all. And it's the truth. Hasn't been in the army since the war ended, has no plans on ever going back. Just some kid who volunteered thinking there are some things no man could take from another, but it turns out he'd been plenty wrong and they could be snatched up easy enough. Being such a different person back then no reason it should have any real effect on the present, or at least that's what Mal keeps on insisting to others.

[lottawork]

Civilian ship, that settles it. Destiny is hardly civilian-run, however much it should be. The shooter probably can't be a symbol of anything, odd blend of contradictory dichotomies he is. He's too unfocused, neither directly representative of all Rush prefers or all Rush hates. The Truant man said something about other minds getting drawn into these simulations. The thought is a mild relief; another explanation that makes a marginal amount of sense without making Rush's brain responsible for conjuring up - whatever this man is.

"Oh, we're in a simulation." He smirks, ironic and completely without humor. It's been three years in stasis, three years with nothing to occupy the mind but endless looped scenarios, and Rush is an expert at testing the reality of where he is. "A dream, or however you choose to define it. Think - how did you get here? How long has it been since you got here? Can you hammer out any sort of timeline in which coming here makes the slightest amount of sense? Time doesn't move linearly in dreams. Obviously."

He notes the horse's petulance with a faint satisfied jerk of his chin. It seems this man and his...animal companion, soul extension, however Truant explained it, is determined to be as irritating as the man it's metaphysically tied to. Fair fucking appropriate.

"Best listen to her," he comments idly. "She's a manifestation of - something, I don't know what. She's to you what the fucking panther is to me. Whatever that is. You can't separate."

He glances at said panther with mild suspicion, but Nathaira simply looks up from her toe-washing to stare back at him, unsettling and innocent, then rises to her feet to pad over. Rush can't tell for the life of him why she's being so quiet when she was so eager to interrupt his many thought processes before, except perhaps that she calculated this man's tendency to shoot at things he doesn't like and has an admirable sense of self-preservation. Rush realizes the absurdity of applying logic to a sapient panther, and immediately decides that thinking about it is not his problem.