A job.

[bringmethatnpc]

On the banks of the Singapore River, a small bamboo-and-stone structure stands out as being one of the newest, and best cared for buildings in the area; a temple for a religion the Western world only hears of in stories from disreputable sailors. Inside, the acolytes sleep soundly on minimalist pallets, biding the time before midnight rituals.

The stillness within is a strange departure from the all-night activity in the town without, and stands apart as a silent haven. The silence is broken only by the movement of unwelcome boots sneaking across bamboo floors designed for bare feet only.

Comments

[badinlatin]

The time it took Mal and Will to travel away from the rest of the crew (and he's taken to calling them that now, no matter how misplaced the vocabulary feels to him) allowed for Mal to calm any normal pre-thieving jitters out of his system.

Looking to Will, Mal double-checks his pair of pistols -- one far more advanced than the other -- and enters into the main altar room, quickly finding only one old priest asleep in the far left corner.

A jerk of the head toward the opposite corner. Might as well look around.

[turned_captain]

Will, who had actually become more relaxed and friendly as they found something to do, nods and grasps thehilt of his sword, before sneaking quietly into the altar room, heading towards the indicated corner.

He takesthe time to look around, though, primarily to check for any other acolytes.

[badinlatin]

There is a series of low trunks at the baseboards of the far wall, most of them unlocked. Mal starts the search through them as soon as he reaches the first one, finding nothing but folded mats and cushions for those novices not yet used to appropriate posture.

"Of course it wouldn't be that easy," Mal scolds himself under his breath. To Will: "You find anything?"

[turned_captain]

Will shuts the lid of the second trunk quietly and shakes his head. "Mats," he mutters, and stands to move on, checking the sleeping priest quickly.

The third shows nothing either. "He couldn't tell us where in the temple they'd be?" he adds, mostly to himself

[badinlatin]

"Take all the fun out o' life."

Mal heads to Will's side to move on as well, but his footsteps are louder than they had been.

And he stops.

And the footsteps continue.

"Tamade. Hide."

[turned_captain]

Will had heard those footsteps too, and he throws the trunk lid further open. It's mostly empty, except for a couple of mats at the bottom. The space above them is big enough to take one man comfoartably.

"Get in," he says, one foot already in, the hand not on the trunk on Mal's arm.

[badinlatin]

Mal wants to question, but he doesn't, folding himself up and letting the lid close.

Those footsteps are still coming -- two sets of them, and Mal's got jack-in-the-boxes on his mind if they get close enough to the trunk he's hiding in.

[turned_captain]

It's not Will's brightest moment for ideas, but even after all this time at sea, Mal's not as offensively noxious company as most of Will's male aquaintance would be in these quarters.

But he still can't wait to get out.

The lid doesn't manage to close completely, leaving a small gap at the rim. This would be much more useful if either of their eyelines were anywhere near the lid.

He stays quiet, hand on his pistol, and waits.

[badinlatin]

It's easy enough to listen, and it gives Mal the opportunity to figure out Earth-that-Was dialect.

"[I will never understand why I always receive kitchen duties]," a deep baritone moaned to the second pair of footsteps.

"[Quit complaining - at least you don't have to do the gardening. I'd prefer the food after it comes out of the ground...]"

Mal can't help but roll his eyes as the footsteps fade from the main altar room.

[turned_captain]

Will glances at Mal to check for some sort of acknoweldgement they don't seen to be returning, and stands slowly, pushing the lid up above them.

"Did you understand that?"

[badinlatin]

"Yes -- complainin' about chores. Sounds like my crew at home."

Home.

There's less humor in Mal's expression and just a touch more determination. "Figure we can get robes or somethin' in these trunks at all? We need to check the chambers for the temple elders and we'll be givin' ourselves away with hair longer 'n a close shave."

Said all while trying to crack the kink from hiding in the trunk out of his neck.

[turned_captain]

"Nothing in there," Will says, standing firm in a very unkinked posture then comes of being that much shorter than Mal.

"If we need robes..."

He looks past Mal, in the direction the footsteps had disappeared into, and tiptoes quickly and urgently in that direction, beckoning to Mal to follow him.

[badinlatin]

This should be fun.

The two novices -- at least, they better be novices, the way they were complaining -- are about twenty-five paces ahead of Will and Mal, turning left when the main walkway butt-ends at a recessed alcove and wooden gate leading off the property.

Mal hasn't drawn his pistol at all; he shouldn't need it yet.

[badinlatin]

Ruttin' chùsheng xai-jiao de xiang huo gorram pirates.

When Sao Feng's cronies throw Mal in the cell What kind of temple has cells in the basement anyway? they don't bother being gentle about it, letting him hit against the back wall like a sack of flour. While the first guard was busying himself tying and double-checking the knots around Mal's wrists behind his back, the second is doing a halfway-decent job of frisking him for weapons and extracts the knife from his boot, his sword already lost.

The guard gets a knee to the hip for removing the 26th century pistol from Mal's holster, but the captain gives no further complaint.

Yet.

[hai-dao.livejournal.com]

So. There is a foreigner -- a wài rén -- in their midst.

In his home. Given that times are what they are, this is an interesting development. One can never be too cautious. Picking his way through the puddles and across the slate slabs, he takes his spot outside the cell.

The Pirate Lord of the South China Sea does not enter these cells. He does not have to enter these cells. That's for others to do. But still, he can examine the inhabitants, like animals in a collection, with the greatest curiosity.

"Huān yíng, xī fāng rén." Welcome, Westerner. Letting out an icy laugh, he hardly expects the man to understand. These foreigners are so imperious.

Spies.

[badinlatin]

For a moment, Mal forgets to be pissed off, giving the sneering man a wink.

"Gāoxìng jìandào nĭ. Nice place you've got goin' here."

The humor in his look is erased when Mal shifts gaze over to the guard still holding his gun with a grin to match his master's.

[hai-dao.livejournal.com]

"You speak our tongue... badly." With a snap of his fingers, a guard appears. He mutters a quick keep close watch on this heishŏudăng liúmáng, well aware this stranger, this mì tàn, knows his words.

"Foreigner. Welcome to Singapore. You travel with interesting weapons. What is your name?" One long fingernail scrapes the bars of the cell and the gesture is almost thoughtful. Of course, it's more menacing than thoughtful by far, as is its intent.

[badinlatin]

"Simon Tam," Mal replies with the first name he thought of, the added bonus being that Tam is more Chinese than Reynolds.

"Thanks for the cozy introduction. You sure know how to show a guest -- " turning slightly to show off his bound hands, " -- a good time."

[hai-dao.livejournal.com]

Bowing deeply, he smiles. "The hospitality in Singapore is legendary."

As he straightens up, though, the smile fades. "My name is Sao Feng. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

This is his first test of this... this... chŭnrén.

[badinlatin]

"Sure -- Piratey lord person. Good taste in facial hair."

He's constantly wriggling at his bonds, not caring that his captor is standing right in front of him. Mal and Sao Feng both have their roles to play.

[hai-dao.livejournal.com]

The bonds are tight, but even if this white-faced person frees himself, the cell still offers a good measure of protection.

He has never heard of anyone with the improbable name of Simon Tam. Then again, he pays little heed to individual intruders and interlopers, those who like to sneak into his temple and defile its space with their badly-pronounced words and worse attitudes. That is a job for his inferiors.

"Simon Tam: why are you in Singapore?" With another snap of his fingers, a message is dispatched down the hall. He would like his women by his side at the moment.

They make a statement all their own simply by being who they are.

For the moment, he overlooks the facial hair comment. When one is held captive, he is likely to say anything that springs to mind as a distraction. Sao Feng himself is no stranger to captivity, after all.

[badinlatin]

One of these days, Mal will figure out how to train someone to be literally at his beck and call like that. When Mal hears Sao Feng use Simon's name as Mal's own, the image immediately springs to mind of the ship's doctor asking his sister to go get him something from the infirmary, and River reciting that something's subjective location in the space-time continuum.

Should be River's birthday sometime about now.

Mal coughs, stopping his mind from wandering. "Just shoppin' for a vacation home -- you know us greedy Westerners."

[hai-dao.livejournal.com]

He smiles, and it's not a pretty smile by Western standards but it suits him very well.

"Property is not easy to come by. Neither are items within properties." Pausing, still smiling, he taps that same fingernail to his lips before letting it trail down the braid of his goatee. "I think you are not what you profess to be, jiān fàn."

He is, however, jiān fàn -- prisoner -- and will stay that way for the duration of his visit. As the two women move silently yet quickly down the hall and take their spot on either side, Sao Feng laughs.

"Tell me what you really seek, wánnào. Because I can tell you right now that there is no property in this country for you."

[badinlatin]

Mal gives up on the humor.

He does, however, move closer to the bars with a smile that's not pretty by any standards, Western or otherwise.

"What I want, sweetheart?"

Mal steps even closer, almost leaning against the bars of his cell.

"Can you scratch my nose for me? Itchin' somethin' awful, tellin' the truth..."

[hai-dao.livejournal.com]

Eyes narrowed, he holds his hands out protectively against the women. They are dispensable, but he'd rather not lose them to this mei tāmāde húndàn.

"You are not welcome in my house... xin gan."

He takes a measured step forward. "You would not know the truth if it bit you in the pìgu."

That's enough.

"Tai Huang! Cǐ shí!"

Time for someone less pleasant to stand watch; he's heard all he wants.