[Santo - Shipyards and Salvage Yards]
[master post]
People come here to do business and get a job done. They're usually looking for something in particular, or have a vague idea of it at the very least.
The acres of parts, and places to put them in, don't have much rhyme or reason to them, as far as organization goes. It means you need to either have a lot of time on your hands for exploring, or to know who to ask to find what you need.
Over in the shipyard section -- it's one big open space, made of poured concrete, where captains can land their ships to take on repairs while their passengers go have fun. The people over in the shipyards generally aren't having fun, and they probably won't take too kindly to visitors nosing around.
People come here to do business and get a job done. They're usually looking for something in particular, or have a vague idea of it at the very least.
The acres of parts, and places to put them in, don't have much rhyme or reason to them, as far as organization goes. It means you need to either have a lot of time on your hands for exploring, or to know who to ask to find what you need.
Over in the shipyard section -- it's one big open space, made of poured concrete, where captains can land their ships to take on repairs while their passengers go have fun. The people over in the shipyards generally aren't having fun, and they probably won't take too kindly to visitors nosing around.
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Mal's opening and closing his palm -- a gimme-gimme gesture if ever the 'verse saw one.
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The list, naturally, had already been approved and scraped over for keep-the-ship-flying necessities versus keep-the-ship-flying-in-six-months necessities, so the grimacing is mostly for show.
"Okay. You want to do this in an order particular?"
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The first person to actually pay attention to the newcomers is a amicable-looking greaser in a black-turned-grey jumpsuit.
"Need directions?" the man asks in a much squeakier voice than Mal had been expecting.
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And says, cheerful, "We're gonna need to find what's on that pad -- " She snatches it out of Mal's hands, and gives it over. " -- for a Firefly, aught-three. Don't suppose you got that lyin' around."
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He looks up at the mechanic. Then the captain.
"...Got someone comin', help you haul all this?"
The captain's hand down by his left hip, points one finger downward. No comments from the peanut gallery, Kaylee.
"We'll manage," Mal smiles, lopsided.
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Then again, Mal can beat her up. "Reckon we will." Bright. "Start off with the bits for the master catalytic converters?"
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"Will do -- you can follow on your mule if'n you'd like."
The mechanic takes one more look at Kaylee's list before handing it back to her, returning to what looks like a hacked-together shed out of the shell of a Capessen 38 (all it's good for, really - even Mal knows that) to retrieve a small scooter.
"Tend to keep the less-requested parts on the other side of the place," he calls out. "Let's go."
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All with a smile and an attitude not really matching the attempt of consternation. This is too much of a milk run for Mal to feel very businesslike today.
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"Here we are!"
The captain looks unconvinced.
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She hops off the bag, and begins to circle around the pile. "Some of this ought to do -- captain? Might want to see about gettin' a sledge."
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Not many women mechanics.
Not many women mechanics who then tell their captains to go do something or fetch something for them.
What's more, the captain actually seems to not mind it -- a man who gets his hands dirty.
It takes him a second to start actually pointing out where the components for the converter are hiding.
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"Yes, yes... yes... no, yes, no, no, no -- " She looks up at Mal. "Three more like these and we can move on."
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(He learned to not question the person who fixes things, when it comes to things he knows she can fix.)
Eyeing the items they've already claimed, however, Mal starts to add up the coin for this little venture in his mind.
Hence the grimace.
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This will mean a discount, later, if she has anything to say about it.
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More a term of separation from the situation than of deference. Timothy certainly does not get paid enough to argue with the customers.
Mal's in his own head more than anything, quietly amused. Pretty sure we're the only folks who've asked for Firefly parts in a good long while, meimei.
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She seems a little disconcerted.
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"If you hit me if I say 'yes', who will pay for the parts?"
He does a level job of not smirking.
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