bringmethatnpc

Entry tags:

at world's end

A job.

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.

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"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.

"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."

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.

"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.

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.

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."

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."

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..."

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.

Tai Huang arrived quicker than the women had, and much less quietly. What they were paid for were two vastly different things.

He positioned himself near the door catching the last fading steps of his Lord around a corner. His small dark eyes raked over the man in the cell, a hand rested against his weapon.

"Sao Feng Junior," Mal crows. "Shiny."

He's just getting irritated now, and his hands tied behind his back aren't helping.

The movements the man were making didn't go unnoticed, though his lip widened into an ugly smile of yellow teeth looking at the bars.

He'd had to deal with worse.

It was passingly annoying that he was stuck down here watching one of the gŏu-- dogs --rather than at Sao Feng's side before the larger infestations of their home.

"Ah. The silent type."

The original guard had passed off Mal's revolver to Tai Huang, and Mal's molars ground together for every minute he'd have to scrub the metal to get his greasy piratey handprints off of it.

"Why don't you let me out of here, huh?" Mal offers more to the gun than to Tai Huang himself. "Your boss won't even miss me."

His hand shifted to the newest weapon of his arsenal, stuffed through a belt it wasn't meant for, as his beady eyes narrowed on Mal.

"The absence of your stench would not go unnoticed, gŏu yúbèn de."

Mal rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and you're draped in perfume and oil."

Mal waits at the gate of the cell, ready to be released.

Tai Huang moved closer, with a shake of his head, the gritty leer not lessoned nor his hold of the man's weapon.

"You'll plead for your life on deaf ears, for your mu qin" --for his mother, for her mercy-- "before you die."

The mongrel had bark if nothing at all.

It made him more entertaining that the whimpering masses in other cells.

Mal gives up the humor and the frustration, using that effort to resume his place on the other side of the bars.

"At least I'm not an idiot who's passin' on a deal just 'cause he wants to start a fight he won't end up winning."

And it bites him to say all this, but there's Will and Dora and how will he ever get back home now?

"You are on the other side of the bars."

Tai Huang tone was shrewd, if not his expression focused with some small curiosity showing now because of the word deal.

It's a strong chord Mal's struck, and he keeps playing at it.

"See that gun?" Mal points to his revolver, the only thing on Mal of value, "Sao Feng's going to be expecting that given to him, bein' such a worthy prize and an expensive. If I escape, I could have taken it back."

Beat. "Or not."

An eye brow moved upward. Mismatched by the other eye narrowing.

There was a step closer, though not close enough that the foreigner could grab him even if his hands weren't tied, while his hand had tightened on the revolver now.

"And where is it you're looking to escape to?"

He was a loyal assistant and first mate, but that did not stop him from being true to a higher calling first: himself.

And Mal'd like to, if he thought that wouldn't end any shot of his escape.

"Anywhere but here."

It's true enough.

"There are other guards." Tai Huang said skeptically.

His tone was more evasively warning, fingers become lighter against the revolver. Almost like they stir to stroke it shortly.

He has looked off in the last moment toward the passage he'd come from as though he was thinking out the idea.

"It's a compliment that you underestimate me."

If Mal should die in the escape attempt, which was as likely, his weapon might be lost along the way, too...

Tai Huang looked back warily, from the empty hallway.

The risk--

"You will die if you attempt to attack Lord Sao Feng."

"I've got no interest in it. I just want to go my way."

At least that part's true, and Mal's taking in the contours of his own pistol very minutely, now.

Like it's the last time he'll see it.

A job.

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