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Close enough in Mandarin for "What the hell..." [ Mal + George ]
Face down in his pillow, when Malcolm Reynolds shifted his legs to the side he expected them to drape over the edge of his bunk. But they only found the comfort and support of more mattress. That would go on record as the first thing he noticed was wrong. Next was the pillow. It was big and soft and not his. Pushing himself up with his forearms, Mal inhaled sharply as his sleepy mind raced to sort things out.
The room he was in was softly illuminated by the sun pouring in through the windows. Big bed, windows -- this wasn't a prison by any definition he knew. Looking around, this place looked like someone's personal quarters more than a cell. Glancing down, he found that he was still dressed in his own attire. Patting down his side, there was a moment of anger mixed with dread as he found his gun missing. But as he moved to get up, he saw his holster as well as his jacket slung over a nearby chair. Mal didn't waste any time replacing that particular belonging to his person.
"Zhe shi shen me?" Leaving the bedroom, weapon in hand, back pressed to the wall -- Mal crept up to the next corner and peeked around it carefully before stepping out into what looked like some empty parlor. Gun still drawn, he was starting to believe his earlier notion that this was just someone's apartment. But it was so sterile, so empty, it was if it had no resident to speak of. Mal would go on to check the adjoining rooms, which turned out to be nothing more than a bathroom and an obscenely large closet only to turn up empty handed. Ending up back in the living room/parlor, he saddled up next to the window, looking out onto an unfamiliar cityscape. Where was this place? Where were the others? Where was Serenity?
The clap of a door opening and closing from the other side of the wall drew his attention to what would turn out to be the front door to the apartment. Firearm still in hand, he approached the door with caution. The door creaked open after Mal twisted the knob and he stood still -- listening.
The room he was in was softly illuminated by the sun pouring in through the windows. Big bed, windows -- this wasn't a prison by any definition he knew. Looking around, this place looked like someone's personal quarters more than a cell. Glancing down, he found that he was still dressed in his own attire. Patting down his side, there was a moment of anger mixed with dread as he found his gun missing. But as he moved to get up, he saw his holster as well as his jacket slung over a nearby chair. Mal didn't waste any time replacing that particular belonging to his person.
"Zhe shi shen me?" Leaving the bedroom, weapon in hand, back pressed to the wall -- Mal crept up to the next corner and peeked around it carefully before stepping out into what looked like some empty parlor. Gun still drawn, he was starting to believe his earlier notion that this was just someone's apartment. But it was so sterile, so empty, it was if it had no resident to speak of. Mal would go on to check the adjoining rooms, which turned out to be nothing more than a bathroom and an obscenely large closet only to turn up empty handed. Ending up back in the living room/parlor, he saddled up next to the window, looking out onto an unfamiliar cityscape. Where was this place? Where were the others? Where was Serenity?
The clap of a door opening and closing from the other side of the wall drew his attention to what would turn out to be the front door to the apartment. Firearm still in hand, he approached the door with caution. The door creaked open after Mal twisted the knob and he stood still -- listening.