Wash mouthed the term 'grimpy Frogger' not knowing what it meant, but pretty sure it was an insult. He clenched his teeth and crossed his arms. He was unsure how real the threat was and how serious to take it.
He didn't know what the numbers and letters meant surrounding the make, Ford, either. 2005, he could guess, was the year. (AKA, ancient) GT was of some significance, he was sure. But, pursed lips all the same, he was impressed at the rebuild. But if he had Serenity here he could shut him up real quick, he bet. Being a pilot without a ship, though, was hurting his legitimacy.
His crossed arms became a little less tight and he lowered his eyelids sheepishly.
"Rebuilt it all, huh? That's shiny," he said with a shrug. "Does it come with the same massive ego and sense of entitlement or is that just unique to its owner?"
It would be obvious at this point, now that he'd calmed down enough to make casual snide remarks and be casually impressed that Wash looked two hairs away from falling flat on his face from exhaustion. His sensitive eyes squinted in a scowl from the constant sun exposure. His flamboyant shirt was only buttoned in the middle as if it had been too much of an effort to finish, the a-line undershirt underneath peeking around the top and bottom.
His reason for walking across the street could only be guessed at as there were no external clues to his stroll's purpose. Wash probably didn't even remember why he was out.