Working for Mal Reynolds on Serenity had three major advantages: first, the ship itself was no end of fun to fly; second, the first mate was gorgeous and sexy as hell; and third, it provided Wash with enough money to drown his sorrows in a saloon that looked to fall apart if a good gust of wind hit it. The beer wasn't good--no, scratch that, it was terrible--but it was nice and strong. Wash wiped a little foam from his mustache and signaled the bartender for another. The barstool next to him rattled as someone sat on it. Wash didn't pay any attention, hoping whoever it was would leave him to be miserable in peace. No such luck. "Buy you a drink, sailor? Or is that phrase too cliche? I strive for originality." Wash turned a baleful glare on the newcomer, recognizing dimly that he was the handsomest man Wash had ever seen, Cortex melodramas included. What was a face like that doing out on the Rim? "'Scuse me?" Wash mumbled, not comprehending more than three words of what Handsome had just said. "I was propositioning you," Handsome clarified, blue eyes twinkling. "You're broody and built, I'm bored and beautiful--match made in heaven." Wash looked him up and down, eyes taking a few detours on the way. "You a whore?" "I've done some whoring in my time, yeah." Handsome flashed a mouthful of blinding teeth. "But I'm not charging tonight. Whaddya say?" "Not into guys." Wash slumped over his latest beer. "Maybe I should be. Maybe that's why I'm not having any luck with women. Woman. One woman." "Ah," said Handsome, understanding. "Zoe Alleyne, bane of my existence," Wash went on. "She's incredible. An Amazon in tight pants. Seriously, why does she have to wear her pants so tight? It's like she's taunting me. 'Look, but if you touch, I'll rip your spleen out through your nose.' And would it kill her to smile once a year? That mouth of hers . . ." He sighed. "I'm telling you, it's a waste. That mouth should be kissed. A lot." Handsome chuckled. "You've got it bad, don't you?" "What's wrong with me, anyway?" Wash turned to face Handsome. "Okay, I don't look like you, with the teeth and the hair and the," he gestured vaguely up and down Handsome's body, "and I'm not some gun-toting manly man, and I didn't go to war and slog through trenches filled with human blood while killing purplebellies with my bare hands, but being a good pilot is not nothing. I could've made a whole lot more if I'd signed on with Tanaka, but nooo, I had to go for the ship with the ice-queen first mate. Who hates me, my Hawaiian shirts, my plastic dinosaurs, my corny jokes and my mustache." "Okay, pilot, what's your name?" Handsome asked once Wash's little rant petered out. "Wash." "Wash, I've got a little advice for you: do not, under any circumstances, give up the Hawaiian shirts, plastic dinosaurs or corny jokes. Do shave the mustache." Wash opened his mouth to protest, and Handsome held up a hand. "No negotiation on that one, my friend. Look only at her face when she's looking at you, no matter how distracting other parts of her anatomy are. And keep up your noble and quixotic quest to make her smile. She'll be on you in the space of a month." Handsome winked. "My loss, her gain." The way he said it, Wash actually had hope. "You really think so?" "Unless she's a fool, she'll throw you down and give you the shagging of your life." "Zoe's no fool." Suddenly, drinking himself into oblivion and getting his pockets picked didn't sound like such a great evening after all. Staggering back to the ship, vomiting a bit and sleeping it off sounded much better. He climbed down from the barstool. "Thanks, Handsome Guy. What did you say your name was?" "Whatever you want to call me. Get your cute ass back to your ship and your woman, Wash; I hope I see you again someday." Handsome stood and walked off past Wash, giving the aforementioned ass a swat as he did so. Wash left, having no clue that his advisor was an undercover 51st-century Time Agent--who happened to be dead right about Zoe. | ||||
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