Shenanigans [Dominic]

[MAL REYNOLDS]

DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CANNOT DO

DON'T YOU THINK I'VE GOT TO RUN FROM YOU

There were plenty of spaces where you could find Mal - Serenity being the foremost of them. Bars, on whatever planet they were at, were also a good bet though. Local color tended to be good at pointing him in the right direction (or the wrong one, depending on what he wanted and why) or providing some entertainment. A little too much, sometimes, actually. And well, there was the part where he occasionally was the local entertainment. Luckily, Badger seemed uninterested in him right now, so he was able to slip in under the radar, insofar they went under the proverbial radar. Shrugging a little to himself, he adjusted his long coat, briefly reveling in the familiar weight of it before entering the bar.

At least you weren't crucified for wearing it right away here. There were planets where he hardly dared to take it out of the closet - or well, he would if he had even a lick of common sense, which everybody kept telling him he didn't. Maybe they were right. Then again, most of the time they were around the Rim anyway, where the former Independents weren't despised and deemed nearly unworthy of life. It was one of many reasons he ended up in so many scuffles.

Which was one of the reasons he had left Zoe to mind the ship, Jayne to do whatever he liked to do so he could skedaddle off and do his own thing. Most likely that meant getting drunk in some seedy dive of a bar somewhere, but he wasn't too particular about it. Leaning against the bar, he ordered his customary whiskey, prepared for the swill that usually got the name rather than the liquid fire he had a single bottle of stashed next to his bunk. Bottles were better bed partners than those Jayne had - cheap whores or hand grenades, neither held his preference. Slinging back his first shot, he wordlessly held up his glass for a refill which he promptly received, smiling vaguely at the bartender as he settled on a barstool, idly adjusting his coat and thigh holster.

TAG: DOMINIC?COLIN ¬ WORDS: 354 ¬ NOTES: N/A
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[DOMINIC HART]

Dominic was beginning to think that he was spending far too much time in bars, wasting away the money he was starting to earn, the meager scraps he got from his meager time about ships. Maybe he needed to start doing groundwork, acting truly as a bounty hunter. No, though, that would make him supremely unpopular unless he had the connections first. That's what he really needed, those connections. He was nothin' without them. And a nothin' doesn't get off a nothin' dirt planet like Persephone; he needed to be gone, he needed to find those siblings, he needed to collect his reward. What he'd do after that, well, who knows? He didn't. Right now, he didn't much care.

Dominic adjusted his baseball cap as he was used to, Colin's favorite article of clothing beside his belt and holster, and entered the bar. Hey, it was a good place to find work, sometimes. Maybe. Well, he'd heard it was, though he had never actually had any real luck in these sorts of places before. Upon entering the bar, Dominic took a quick glance around, though only one figure caught his eye: a man in a long... brown... duster coat. Convincing himself that the half-scowl on his face was just because he was adjusting to the poorly lit room, Dominic slunk to the counter and sat on a stool, ordering a beer, a cheap beer. Dominic was getting used to the drinks of the poor; Colin, too, the naive boy from a backwater planet.

Now, Dominic didn't want a fight. He had seen the man's gun on his thigh, and this man seemed hardened, like a spacer of some sorts. Then again, if he was a spacer, then maybe he'd be able to help, maybe he'd be able to point Dominic in the right direction or offer Colin a job. Then again, maybe neither of those things would happen, but why not strike up a conversation. Dominic took a sip of his beer and glanced at the man from under his hat.

After a very brief internal debate, Dominic became solid on risking it. "Brave man, wearin' one o' those out'n'about. Ain't seen a real 'un fer a while, Ah don't think," he said fairly quietly to the man, his eyes focused on his drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to watch for a reaction from the mystery man. Sometimes, it pained Dominic to speak in Frontier slang, but other times it felt natural. He did not like it to feel natural, though, at the same time, he did. Was damn well annoying, all these conflicting things in his head.

TAG: MAL | NOTES: I hope this was okay |D' It felt a bit derpy | 443 WORDS | OUTFIT

[MAL REYNOLDS]

DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CANNOT DO

DON'T YOU THINK I'VE GOT TO RUN FROM YOU

Of course he had noticed the new guy walking in and sitting down pretty closeby, but he ignored him in favor of nursing his drink. His past had made him a mite paranoid, but he tried not to be. Not more than necessary, anyway, and he really wasn't looking for trouble this fine evening. Not particularly, anyway. Then again, trouble tended to find him. It was a mistress that kept courting him, and he kept courting her, even if he really did not want something permanent with her. Grinning a little at that particular stray thought, he knocked back two big swigs of the whiskey, grimacing as he felt it burn down to his stomach. Hell, at least the fumes cleaned out his sinuses.

He did notice the several glances the guy threw his way. One was OK, two too - but this many made him a mite twitchy, almost to the point of checking his gun, even if he knew rationally that he didn't need to. The thing was in as near a perfect condition as could be, and he wasn't really planning on shooting anyone today. Not that that plan was set in stone - if somebody started shootin'  at him, he'd shoot right back. Mal wasn't too difficult in that: self defense was a mightily fine thing sometimes, and he really didn't like being shot. It hurt.

Because he kept half an eye on the man, he wasn't too startled when the man suddenly spoke up, commenting on the color of his coat. Mal shrugged, straightening up just enough to look at the man. "'s jus' a coat," he claimed, shrugging for good measure. It wasn't, but no need to advertise that. He'd parted with a lot of things after the war, his innocence and faith being only two of the myriad things, but the coat wasn't one of 'em. Not even per se for what it symbolized, but maybe it was a matter of pride. And hey, it was a mightily handy coat. 'sides, he didn't think the kid was old enough to have fought in the war. He just struck him as some local, but then from the more... Rural side of Persephone or a nearby planet or moon, on his way to a fast fortune or, more likely, years of hard work for little pay only to end up stranded somewhere or killed by Reavers. Darn, when did he get so cynical? Turning a little bit more to face the man, he decided to pretend he was a friendly man and contributed a little more to the conversation. "But even if it'd been a real one, here it shouldn't a be too much of an issue."  Least not last time he was here. Times a'changed quickly, though.

TAG: DOMINIC?COLIN ¬ WORDS: 475 ¬ NOTES: Next time I'll attempt slang xD
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[DOMINIC HART]

Dominic smiled and chuckled a little, once or twice, the way naive boys do, and took another sip of his drink, showing that he was just a friendly kid. He turned, opening himself toward the man in the brown coat, adjusting his cap so that it was pointed up a little bit, removing some of the shadow from his face. "No, sir, ain't no probl'm with me. Hell, Ah think it's just shiny, kinda cour'ge takes a man ta wear that kinda coat, n' matter whether he believes it or not," Dominic said, pouring all of his Colin into it. Damn ungrateful traitors, he thought, of course, but he said nothing of the sort. Didn't want to get himself shot, after all. That wouldn't really be very productive or fun.

Although Dominic knew the rules of being too chatty, especially with strangers on a planet such as Persephone, run by criminals and gangsters as it was, he was rather curious about this man. Colin would be, too, as though he would have seen any sort of man like him. As he took another sip of his disgusting warm beer, Dominic made sure to memorize the man's features. Wasn't too hard, since he was so interesting looking, somethin' about his face just stood out to the kid. Then again, maybe it was the coat bringing out the cowardly traitor in his eyes. It was this sort of man that got Dominic's father injured, prevented Dominic from joining the military, took him to be a bounty hunter instead. In a way, he could blame his entire life on these Browncoats, and this one looked as if he had been old enough to fight in the Unification War.

But he was curious, and maybe this man knew something about the Tam siblings. After all, it would make sense, the Browncoats sneaking away valuable government assets, hiding them away. Would make sense, them not wanting the Alliance to be able to research and so forth in peace. Ha. As if Dominic actually believed that crap about the Alliance; oh, sure, he wanted to, but actually believe? Nah. But it didn't matter to him what happened to a poor little girl, girl about his sister's age. Right?

Taking a swig of his warm beer, Dominic grinned a little and shook his head, breathing deeply. "Alliance ain't never done nothin' fer me 'n' mine. Pa couldn't fight after the Unification War, couldn't hardly work neither." With a sardonic chortle, Dominic raised his bottle toward the stranger and smirked. "To the Alliance. May they have lots o' ungrateful, squealin' bastard kiddies." The words practically burned in Dominic's throat, sizzled on his tongue. Colin, of course, didn't feel any such pain, so Dominic tried to force it away, tried to shove his loyalty out his ass. Loyalty. That's why he was doing this. Right? He at least had some scrap of morals, he liked to tell himself.

TAG: MAL | NOTES: herpaderp
488 WORDS | OUTFIT

[MAL REYNOLDS]

DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CANNOT DO

DON'T YOU THINK I'VE GOT TO RUN FROM YOU

For a moment Mal was ready to shrug the comments off, just drink his whiskey and be done, but he decided against it. Or well, not per se that: the kid just kept talking, earnest and even a tad naive in his appearance. The shadow casted by his cap obscured his eyes a little, but Mal couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. From the glimpses he got of the kid's eyes, he was wondering if 'kid' was an appropriate moniker for the guy. Tilting his head a little he took another swig of his whiskey before composing an answer. "That's a way to see it too," he agreed. It took a special kind of man (or woman) to wear the coat - mostly the relics from the war, like he and, less often, Zoe, or other veterans. And these days there were new Browncoats, attempting to resurrect the old ideals.

It was not something he was into - sure, he had heard about it, but really, he had fought the war once already and really didn't look forward to doing it another time.  Too much blood had already been spilled for that particular cause. "Belief's no' somet'ing I've got left in abundance," he muttered under his breath, aware of how truthful he was for once. Lying was a bit of a standard response for him, these days even more. Not that he'd been of the truthful variety in the past few years - ever since Serenity Valley and what followed to that he'd had the proclivity to lie, spin webs of half-truths and full lies to conceal facts he didn't want visible to every man and woman he spoke to - or River. Not that he could lie to River, but he could deceive a little. Spin those half-truths and not-lies just well, and he could at least keep her out of some of his more painful memories.

"Alliance's yi da tuo da bian," he stated in his 'indoor voice'. Even here you couldn't be too careful with some things. "Done things to folk that makes it right hard to survive," he agreed. He'd seen his fair share of people struggling to survive during and after the war, had nearly lost his own life once or twice. Well, a lot of different times, but directly because of the fact he was, or had been, a Browncoat himself. He didn't respond to the toast though - though the general idea wasn't that bad, kids were one of the folks he didn't want to involve in any old grudges he held.

TAG: DOMINIC?COLIN ¬ WORDS: 444 ¬ NOTES: The Chinese is 'big pile of shit'
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[DOMINIC HART]

Back when Dominic was in training, he got rather low marks on his control, keeping himself in check. Did some work on it, came back, aced it. It was times such as these that made him so very grateful for that improvement because in earlier times, he would've shot this man just for wearing the coat, shot himself for speaking the way he was. He was furious at Colin for his father, however ridiculous that seemed. And, sometimes, in a way, what Dominic did was to spite his family, but he also wanted to make them proud. He hasn't exactly realized it yet. Now, he was all about controlling, never releasing. No wonder he loved the Alliance so much, or at least told himself he did. As he spoke his treasonous, hateful words, a tiny part of him whispered that it was true, and he feared it. Dominic didn't want to lose himself inside this uneducated backwater boy, or worse, realize that he himself, educated and wealthy as his background afforded, actually didn't believe completely and wholly in the organization that made it all possible.

Dominic took a swig from his bottle and noticed that it almost was empty. He did note that the stranger didn't join on the toast, though he did mutter some things quietly under his breath, not all of which Dominic caught. He hated not hearing, as, certainly, most do. He could only assume that the man was saying something awful about the Alliance under his breath, but then he actually said that the Alliance was shit to his face, so, no, probably not that.

Nodding a little, Dominic smiled slightly and glanced down at his hands, which had fallen into his lap, for a moment. Taking a breath, he decided maybe it was best to introduce himself, to let this man know Colin Grimshaw. He didn't seem too bad, too angry at the Alliance, and... as much as Dominic was loath to admit it, it was not illegal to wear brown duster coats. With a wide grin and bright eyes, Dominic lifted his head, swept the hat off his head and stuck it under his armpit, and offered his right hand. "Ah'm Colin. Grimshaw, Grimshaw. Colin Grimshaw," he said cheerfully to the man, careful with his volume, more careful than he had been before, though this seemed less important to hide than Alliance hate. "May Ah just say, it is the shiniest pleasure to meet ya, sir. Ain't heard truthful speak from folk since the dinner table." He laughed innocently. In a way, it was partly true. Best kind of lies, the ones that are partly true.

Now, Dominic was insanely curious about this man. Curiosity was a killer in federal agents, although it also was a total career-maker. Basically, you died or you struck gold. Dominic was really hoping for the prior. No, the latter. Not a Freudian slip. Definitely not. Definitely hoping to succeed. Succeed at what? he sometimes asked himself. And then, after asking, he'd whack himself and tell himself to shove off and get on with life, stop whining. He doesn't tend to linger much on emotions, silly Dominic.

TAG: MAL | NOTES: I didn't really mean for this post to get so angsty/internal -- I'm sorry |D'' | 527 WORDS | OUTFIT

[MAL REYNOLDS]

DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CANNOT DO

DON'T YOU THINK I'VE GOT TO RUN FROM YOU

"Malcolm Reynolds," he introduced himself in turn, not bothering to be polite and pretend he was pleased to meet the kid, although in a way he was. He accepted the extended hand and shook it with a half-grin. "But call me Mal." Mal didn't add the 'Çaptain' in front of his name, a hint of caution still threaded through his system. It was always interesting to meet new folk, and half the time it was useful too: you either knew who to run to or who to run from. Hell, sometimes it even ended up with some new contacts, which always were useful in his line of work. Whether it was just to get word out someone was lookin' for them, or for a new job.. They mattered. With a hint of swagger he practically upturned his glass, emptying it with a big swig before slapping it down on the counter with slightly more force than was strictly necessary - as was the shiver down his spine. Strong stuff, this home-brewed whiskey-style drink. Tasted pretty good though, overall. Good enough to want another one. Hell, he really drank too much on an average basis if his alcohol tolerance was any indication.

"Should find another crowd then," he replied, a playful lilt to his voice as a hint of teasing crept into his voice. He doubted Colin would understand his darkish humor in this subject: it was a sad, sad day when Malcolm was seen as a truthful guy. He was no paragon of virtue, never would be. Sure, he tried to do the right thing, but his definition of right was more than a little skewed, as evidenced by their not-so-very-legal activities. He simply had a ship that was made for smuggling and not much options for proper, decent-like work. Being a Browncoat didn't help at all, certainly not when he got near the Core planets. If they checked him out... Well, not many Alliance-folks were likely to hire or trust him then. They might not yet kill him on sight, but that was no guarantee whatsoever for the future. Lord knew he did enough to endanger them - his crew, his ship and hisself, importance not per se in that order.

TAG: DOMINIC?COLIN ¬ WORDS: ¬ NOTES: Too lazy to count, sorry it's short-ish
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