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]

"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.

[captain_mal]

And he's right back to talking on about simulations and them being nothing but a dream, whatever that's suppose to mean. Well good to see that bout of sanity didn't go lasting too long. Might have been able to hold an actual full conversation without swearing more than breathing or babbling on about aliens and the likes. Now, where's the fun in something as sensible as all that?

Mal is all prepared to just roll his eyes and start ignoring the fellow when something he says actually kind of sticks. Mal vaguely remembers trying to get a hold on the earlier but no matter how much he wants to recall the whole scene he can't quite manage to get it pinned down precisely. Knows that at some point Serenity must have landed... Nearby, though couldn't have been anywhere in the woods itself unless there is a nice big clearing in the middle of all this mess of trees that Mal's just failing to see. Thinks he knows how long he's been walking though, that much is.... Maybe not as clear as he figured. But seems to have been a while now. Can tell you exactly when he found the stallion, for instance.

Can't he?

Mal shares a glance with the horse, frowning some because what the hell is he expecting, the horse to answer his question he didn't even go and ask out loud? Never mind that, what he's trying to figure is how long he's been traveling with this old bronco now. Feels like they know each other so well it must have been... Well it must have been just about all day by this point, surely.

It's hard to tell not being able to see the sky and all. That's pretty much how Mal is able to tell where in the 'verse he is and what time of day and anything much having to do with time and navigating, so being trapped up under this canopy ain't doing his attempts at finding his way out any favors and giving him plenty of trouble when it comes to something as simple as keeping time, that's the problem right there.

Still cant seem to recall much of how he got here or why it is Serenity would even come to this world, a world he don't remember a gorramn thing about at the moment. Must have had a job, why else even both coming to this sort of planet? And Mal must have had to go make the deal alone, though seems like not even he would be so goddamn foolish as to truly go off without Zoe watching his back. Either way, must be that thing went south. He got separated off from the rest of the crew and was chased or dragged here and.... why don't he actually remember any of this? Had things really gone that wrong?

Easier to believe that than the idea that this is just some alien-believing stranger's simulation, that's for sure. The details are fuzzy but wouldn't be the first time Mal's woken up from a bad job to find that's happened. Actually kind of disquieting thinking of how common that is in Mal's line of work.

Those thoughts are just unwelcomed enough that Mal's almost welcomes having the man speaking up again despite so far having found most of what he had to say either total absurdity or annoying or both. This falls somewhere between the two, more like mildly nonsensical and a bit bothersome at most. "He," Mal corrects almost automatically, though he shouldn't really care what the man calls his horse which isn't his at all, just another reason not to care so much, 'specially from a guy who thinks he was abducted by aliens. "Can't tell a stallion from a mare? It's a he, and he ain't mine. I just found him," Mal explains not that its anything so important like, say, trying to get back to Serenity, figure out where the gorramn hell he is, or even if he could just tell if this fellow is the same product of the testing River had been through. Does seem kind of weird he could so easily go and figure out about Mal's wandering having lost him all sense of time and positioning, he described it so easy could be that he's a reader and don't even know it, but then he really don't come off as the same type as River at all, outside of both of'em being shén jīng bìng.

"He must have gotten lost, same as me," Mal points out, staring over at the horse like he's actually expecting him to reveal some deep, dark secret to him, but at the moment the horse is too busy trying to graze to bother with Mal's weird looks. "Never met him before in my life, certainly ain't got no plans on keeping him but figure he must have come from a ranch or a farm, somewhere nearby. Hoping he might be inclined to go back but, well..." Now the horse actually looks up, but only to give something of a snort and shake out his mane, not exactly the best response one could hope for."

[lottawork]

"Right," says Rush, in the flat, crisp sort of diction that implies he doesn't believe him at all, inclining his head at the big black cat who has now returned to washing herself with misleading indolence. It's apparent that she's just as alert as he, the entirety of these woods sending foreign and unwelcome prickles of anxiety jangling in his hands and spine and at the base of his skull, but he knows he expressed far too much vulnerability upon their first exchange and needs to reestablish his composure. "Just like how the panther isn't mine."

He levels a small, knowing half-smile at the man, enjoying the small tilt of dominance that comes from knowing more than he does at the present moment. Simulations are nothing new. Even if this one is - different than what Destiny would ordinarily throw at his mind. And Rush doesn't appreciate the other party being armed in this scenario, but if Destiny is eager to test his response to worst-case scenarios, well. He's certain this one would qualify.