Absolutely nothing to do with that other universe I've been playing in. Just a short exercise to make sure I can still approach canon well.

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Zoe arched a brow, and looked sideways at Mal.

“I last served under Willby and his gang.” The wiry man kept on running his thumb across his goatee. “The ‘Tough Love’, Vesper model.”

“We run a Firefly.” Zoe looked like a wet cat. She hadn’t even touched her mug of ale as the thick smell of alcohol and tobacco stung their noses. The saloon was raucous, dark, dank, and the perfect place to look for employees. She kept on giving Mal the sideways glare.

Mal shifted in his seat. Zoe’s eyes were like hellfire they were. Made a man nervous, like he needed to guard his underbelly.

“Old as dirt, hold up well.” He sniffed, his eyes homely and grey as he took a drink if saki. Slamming the cup onto the wooden table, he flashed a toothy smile. “I can handle that. Flown a few in my day. Unfortunately I’m gettin’ long in the tooth.”

“No need for apologies.” Mal poured him another cup. “I need someone with some history. Person that’s seen the ‘Verse knows the thing our two about tight sitcheeations. We don’t want no one green.” He then poured himself a cup of saki and tossed it back.

“Well I surely ain’t green Mr. Reynolds.”

Smacking his lips, he settled his arms on the cheaply made table. “Good, but I wanna hear more about this crew you flew for. Reckon’ I haven’t had the pleasure of knowing a Willby nor a fine vessel like you described.”

“We hauled cargo of a questionable nature.” He pulled out a tin case “Always arriving on schedule, nary a hiccup. Kept ‘em safe in the sky...”

“So why are you out here hustlin’ for a job?” Zoe cut him off, sharply.

He pulled out a cigarette, sticking it betwixt his lips. “Time ta move on, Miss.” He dug into his jacket pocket and fumbled for his light. “Folks change, crews change, weren’t who we were when we first started runnin’ together. Time to leave in my book.” He found the lighter and tapped the ignite button with his thumb. The little flame went up, and he started puffing on his cigarette.

“Man of an honest nature.” Mal commented.

“I try.” He tucked his lighter back in his pocket, taking a long drag.

“You smoke all the time?”

“Hmm.” He exhaled, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. “I partake on a daily basis, however I don’t go through a pack a day in’ that’s what you mean.”

“We just gotta Doc, he's not too fond of habits such as yours.” Mal gestured.

“I can keep it to the helm, or I can smoke somethin’ entirely different, say it’s for this ol’ bum knee.” He joked, chuckling as smoke curled out os his nose like dragon’s breath.

Mal smiled, then finally looked sideways to Zoe in a way that meant he liked the fella.

Zoe leaned back in her chair, her eyes in slits as took a deep breath. “Nice meetin’ ya, we’ll be in touch.”

The pilot looked as if he had been hit with a blunt object. A might confused. “I ain’t given you my number...”

“We know where to find you.” She reassured, sharply.

Seeing how the tall, athletic woman with the gun was shooting him daggers, he got up. “Pleasure ta talk business with ya.” Tipping his hat, he walked off.

Mal’s head whipped around, his face not quite settling on angry or bewildered. His blue eyes were all sortsa wide though. “What the hell, Zoe?!

“I didn’t like him, Sir.” Straightening her spine, she finally brought the mug to her lips and sipped her drink.

“Zhé shì kĕ xiáo de, we’re interviewed every single drunk that’s pinky swore he knew how ta fly on these docks.” He growled, far more angry than previously bewildered. “Plenty ta turn away, but the few that seem capable you scare off too!”

“Sir, I don’t like any of them.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“You know pretty soon, I ain’t gonna let you have a say in this.” Mal pointed a finger at his second mate, getting a look of betrayal and fury from her he continued. “Don’t you pull that hóu zi fen with me Zoe. I know this puts you in straights. Be we needa pilot, honest ta goodness person that knows what the hell ta do with Serenity. River was fine for a spell, and she’s better but her mind still comes and goes. She ain’t a flyer, not yet. And I need a job for fuel and food.” He took the bottle of cheap saki and poured himself another. “Charity stockpile the Operative gave us is near gone, and I don’t want to wait so long that our belly buttons make friends with our backbones.” Instead of taking it all in one swill, he took a sip “Not again.”

Zoe gazed deeply onto her mug of ale, as if trying to decipher an answer out of the bits of froth that clung to the sides. “I understand. Sir. It’s just.... it’s a might harder than I expected.” The last bit was said in a low, muttered tone. Like a secret not yet ready for confession.

“I know, Zoe.” His eyes were genuinely sympathetic as they fixed on the pained planes of her face. Zoe never had shown her hurt before. She could be shot, tortured, whatever, and she wasn’t gonna shed a tear. But then there was Wash, and it was deepest wound Mal had ever seen her take. That kinda wound never healed well. “Ain’t easy for me niether.” He confessed, honestly, touched with emotion himself. “But it’s gotta be done and there ain’t no one else I want helpin’ me pick out a used pilot.”

The way her eyebrows pushed up, mirrored the doubt welling up inside. “You sure about that, Sir?”

“Absolutely, anyone else would spell disaster or embarrassment. Couldja see the Doc interviewin'? Jayne? Kaylee? ‘Nara?” He shook his head. “Jus’ you.”

Zoe’s eyes softened up some. “Thank you, sir.” Her eyes roamed up to their paltry little bar flyer. A piece of parchment with ‘Wanted: Pilot, All Interested In Position Inquire’ with a little arrow pointing down to their table. Horrible way of doing business, but seeing as they had lost so many contacts during the Miranda debacle, it was necessary.

“Just quit scarin the good ones off.” Mal took a sip of his saki. "Don't wanna move to another bar, again."

*** *** *** DEFINITIONS/TRANSLATIONS Zhé shì kĕ xiáo de: This is ridiculous hóu zi fen: monkey shit.

A/N: I like honesty.