Kaylee does not celebrate Mardi Gras.
In Soviet Russia, however, Mardi Gras is apparently celebrating her. She is wearing a
yak hat* and a few strands of purple and gold beads.
After four-plus years in the bar, sometimes you just have to roll with these things. Or laissez les bons temps rouler. Whatever. She's got alcohol. All is well.
*yaks
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But he earlier today he walked past somebody with the ability to transform at random into a kitten wearing a string of Mardi Gras beads, so when the door swings open, the pitter patter of tiny paws with giant metallic beads joins the din.
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(It says so on the label.)
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The kitten looks trustingly up at Kaylee. She exists, therefore she is probably nice and will pet him and give him food.
"Mrow?" it says.
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"That's a pretty long strand of beads." She holds out a hand. "You gonna let me pick you up?"
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Rhodey wears his own uniform: camouflage fatigues, aviators, and a cap that he takes off as he comes through the bar. He's sending a resigned, slightly bemused look from side to side as he goes. He bellies up to the bar, and --
"That's some hat," he says.
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Grins.
"Why, Jim Rhodes," she says, cheerful. "I didn't hardly know you without that nice scarf you had on last time."
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"Nice hat."
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