(no subject)

It's Sunday afternoon, ship's time. It was perhaps an hour ago that the crew, well-fed and quietly triumphant, trooped from Andronicus Crowley's flat on Lavinia through a certain door into Milliways, and then right back out the door to Serenity.


("Permission to come aboard?" River said softly to Mal, with the barest ghost of a smile, as the Milliways door closed to nothingness.

Mal gave her a level, flat stare. "I never gave you permission to leave," he informed her, "so I don't think you actually need it to come back aboard."

River ducked her head, and grinned just a little more.)


Now, River is sitting cross-legged on a wooden box tucked under one of the cargo bay staircases. She's holding onto the inner edge of a stair, running her fingers slowly along the cool grating, as she stares out across the wide expanse of the cargo bay.

The ceiling is high, and the walls curve outwards.

(People miss out on)

It gives you an open feeling.