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Jan. 22nd, 2005 03:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flybywashHe tests it again once he and River are though the door. Serenity shudders to a halt beneath his feet, refusing to budge until, his skin prickling in a way that has nothing to do with the cold, he flicks the jewelry off of his finger and back into his pocket. River wanders off to...wherever. Wash, on the other hand, kicks open the ladder to his bunk and slides down.
There's a battered pair of shoes in the back of his closet: a weird hybrid of tennis shoes and combat boots that he's had for close to ten years now. The soles are cracked wide open, a good chunk of the heel missing from the left shoe, and the fabric's pockmarked with holes rimmed in frayed fuzz. Why he hasn't jetted them out the airlock yet is anybody's guess.
Good thing he hasn't, though. Even better that he's not looking to wear them.
Darting furtive glances toward the ladder, Wash untangles one of the ragged shoelaces from the eyeholes. He gives it a few experimental tugs; satisfied that it doesn't immediately snap in half, he digs the tarnished ring -- just as worn as the shoes -- out of his pocket and threads it on. After looping the shoelace around to a manageable length, Wash knots both ends, slips it over his head, lets the ring rest underneath his jumpsuit. The cold metal raises a shiver and another wave of goosebumps when it touches his bare skin.
If anybody asks, he'll say it was a gift from Zoe.
If Zoe asks...uh. He'll think of something.
Yeah.
"When did my life get so kuángzhĕ de?" he mutters, rubbing his forehead, and heads back upstairs to help Kaylee fix the heat.
There's a battered pair of shoes in the back of his closet: a weird hybrid of tennis shoes and combat boots that he's had for close to ten years now. The soles are cracked wide open, a good chunk of the heel missing from the left shoe, and the fabric's pockmarked with holes rimmed in frayed fuzz. Why he hasn't jetted them out the airlock yet is anybody's guess.
Good thing he hasn't, though. Even better that he's not looking to wear them.
Darting furtive glances toward the ladder, Wash untangles one of the ragged shoelaces from the eyeholes. He gives it a few experimental tugs; satisfied that it doesn't immediately snap in half, he digs the tarnished ring -- just as worn as the shoes -- out of his pocket and threads it on. After looping the shoelace around to a manageable length, Wash knots both ends, slips it over his head, lets the ring rest underneath his jumpsuit. The cold metal raises a shiver and another wave of goosebumps when it touches his bare skin.
If anybody asks, he'll say it was a gift from Zoe.
If Zoe asks...uh. He'll think of something.
Yeah.
"When did my life get so kuángzhĕ de?" he mutters, rubbing his forehead, and heads back upstairs to help Kaylee fix the heat.
