(no subject)

[flybywash]

It's turning into yet another late night on Serenity. He's checked the course as many times as he can, done a couple of fuel-conserving tweaks on it, and wrapped up part forty-eight of The Rolling Plains of That Grassy Place. (Oscar died a horrible death at Crichton's stubby little hands. It was very sad.)

So now Wash is sitting on the cargo bay catwalk with a stack of paper scraps. The spaceball hoop's winched down a few feet, and he's aiming some neatly-folded paper airplanes through it.

Comments

[gonna_live]

"And here I was thinkin'," says a voice coming from the corridor, "you wouldn't stand for anything flyin' to be unmanned."

It's Kaylee, hands in her pockets.