(Untitled)

[gonna_live]

There are some nights in spring where it's warm, and there's just enough of a breeze to warrant long sleeves (and perhaps a stolen white shirt on the comfortable side of threadbare), and when it might be a little cold but it's impossible to resist the lure of bare feet on the lake shore with the grass in your toes and stars in the sky

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[mogget_cat]

*There's a clump of mint-looking plants just on the other side of a small inlet on the lake. It smell kind of nice, and makes on feel slightly sleepy.*

*It has the opposite effect on cats, sadly.*

*Something white tries to pounce Kaylee's feet, but misses and goes tumbling. It is purring rather loudly.*

[gonna_live]

Kaylee blinks.

"...Buckley?"

[mogget_cat]

*He tries to get back on his feet, to no avail. He's still purring madly, like he is the happiest he has ever been. There are kittyfeet flailing in the air.*

[gonna_live]

Kaylee crouches. "Now I wonder what you've been up to."

[simon_doctor]

Someone's whistling, not too far away.

That might be "The 59th Street Bridge Song" he's whistling. It's hard to say for certain, as he doesn't seem to be quite sure of all the notes.

[gonna_live]

And Kaylee, looking out over the lake, can't quite tell.

But it makes her smile anyhow.

Looks like spring puts all manner of people in good moods.

[simon_doctor]

Maybe it's spring. Or maybe it's just the company.

"Hey."

[gonna_live]

She turns, looks over her shoulder.

"Ai ren."

Quiet, and content, and -- something rare enough -- relaxed.

[path_unprepared]

He finishes the last paragraph of the last page of his book as he steps outside and the door leading back into the bar closes behind him. Closes it, with a small satisfied sigh.

And pauses.

He's returned. This time, he isn't near the greenhouse. He can see the greenhouse -- it's a short distance away, and it looks as if no one is around -- but a few feet in front of him is some kind of wooden swing. Handmade, by the look of it.

He takes a step toward it, and places a hand on the back of the swing.

[gonna_live]

A sudden breeze.

Maybe a second long-sleeved shirt isn't enough.

Maybe Kaylee should have stuck with a jacket.

[path_unprepared]

The moment his hand touches the swing

('she scares me, with what she does...somethin' 'bout that girl she's engaged to')

something clicks in his mind. Like a machine that has been lying dormant and forgotten, collecting dust, and has now been switched on and is somehow running

(that purple-haired bitch who goes around just gettin' engaged to people)

as if it had never been turned off at all.

(we ain't got no way to fix it)

In fact, it's running perfectly.

(wants to make her into a machine, doesn't want to fix her)

It always has been.

There was a book in his left hand a moment ago.

There is a candelabra in his left hand now.

The candles are not lit.

[gonna_live]

The reason that Kaylee loves the swing is because it reminds her of home -- what she knows as home. The white house that rambles just a bit out at the edge of town, with the stream off to the north and the roadhouse down the road and through the woods and the old hillock where they made a fort once upon a time and always sailed back to the house just in time for dinner and where they'd sit out on the swing just after dinner on spring nights just like this one with water with just a hint of mint in it and talk and laugh and tell stories.

When she was old enough, she painted the one at home, too.

The flowers on the swing aren't expertly painted by any means.

But they certainly match the ones on the walls of Serenity's kitchen.

(you can be me when I'm gone)

Weather has faded them.