(no subject)
The ship's far more cramped and far dingier and far less homey than Serenity, but what's the point in comparisons when it would never have measured up? It's not nearly worth what he paid for it, either, but at least it's headed in the right direction. After so long away it's almost as though he can feel it.
And there are certain small luxuries, at least. Like the screen flickering in the corner, quiet and tinny but magnified by the silence that surrounds it.
"Election results for Osiris are in, and the hotly contested Parliament seat now belongs to Gabriel Tam, with no question of a recount..."
It's suddenly impossible to hear any more. There's no question about who's favoured on this ship, not in the least - Aziraphael's been with them a while, now, as they ferried into cities and towns and waystations those that couldn't have made it to vote on their own. Cheers and excited political commentary in a number of different languages, satisfied nods and arms raised in victory and slung across shoulders and someone opens a bottle that passes from hand to hand -
(try again, someone warbles, alone and off key, but no one who sings this song is ever alone for long, try again you politicians)
- and Aziraphael, winding through the crowd until he's closer to the screen. It's impossible to hear any more but the angel watches silently mouthing faces; Carson's smile stretched thin, Gabriel's jubilant grin and for an instant (and a wave of homesickness almost too strong to take) the satisfied look on Andronicus Crowley's face. The satisfied look that brings home to him that they have - that they have actually done it.
He whirls around with a wide grin and snatches up one of the passengers, dancing them in something very like a gavotte around a pile of packing crates. And it's not so impressive as it'd have been with Kaylee or River - Mr Okada isn't nearly so sprightly as he was forty years ago - and the effect is ruined, rather, when they trip over a duffle bag and land with a clatter... but it's not as though anyone can hear them, over the singing.
And there are certain small luxuries, at least. Like the screen flickering in the corner, quiet and tinny but magnified by the silence that surrounds it.
"Election results for Osiris are in, and the hotly contested Parliament seat now belongs to Gabriel Tam, with no question of a recount..."
It's suddenly impossible to hear any more. There's no question about who's favoured on this ship, not in the least - Aziraphael's been with them a while, now, as they ferried into cities and towns and waystations those that couldn't have made it to vote on their own. Cheers and excited political commentary in a number of different languages, satisfied nods and arms raised in victory and slung across shoulders and someone opens a bottle that passes from hand to hand -
(try again, someone warbles, alone and off key, but no one who sings this song is ever alone for long, try again you politicians)
- and Aziraphael, winding through the crowd until he's closer to the screen. It's impossible to hear any more but the angel watches silently mouthing faces; Carson's smile stretched thin, Gabriel's jubilant grin and for an instant (and a wave of homesickness almost too strong to take) the satisfied look on Andronicus Crowley's face. The satisfied look that brings home to him that they have - that they have actually done it.
He whirls around with a wide grin and snatches up one of the passengers, dancing them in something very like a gavotte around a pile of packing crates. And it's not so impressive as it'd have been with Kaylee or River - Mr Okada isn't nearly so sprightly as he was forty years ago - and the effect is ruined, rather, when they trip over a duffle bag and land with a clatter... but it's not as though anyone can hear them, over the singing.