Scene #3989:

Owner	Pose
Nasrin	ALAMUT -- the Assassin Fortress in the desert mountains. Named for the famous refuge of the Assassin Brotherhood in Iran and refounded here with the Brotherhood at its strength, the fortress -- and its village below the cliffs and rough terrain -- was enjoying a relatively cool, dry spring night. The great courtyard, meant for receivving visitors from both the trail that lead up and... more easily accessable sky routes was empty, save for the lone, twisted olive tree at the center of the circle. In the early morning the horses in the stables were quieted, the great hall was emptied and its kitchen hearth reduced to a few living embers. THe early pinks threatening the horizon lent a rosy light to the yard. And all the assassins were abed, save for the weary few on watch duty.
Malcolm Reynolds	There's just something to be said for ruining an otherwise picturesque morning skyscape. Something about the high-pitched whine of spaceship engines in the brisk morning air. The way the dust kicks up from exhaust in the calm morning breeze. Nothing quite like an ill-fitting entrance to introduce the ill-fitting ship that begins to descend from the rosy horizon. "What was that?" asks a voice that seems all-too-used to asking about things going wrong. "What was-" CLANG "What WAS that?!?" repeats the voice, cut off midway through his second query by the ominous sound of Something breaking. "Gorramit.... We're losing flow to the auxiliary power distributor...." Another voice, managing to sound both worried and strangely un-surprised at what sounds like a fairly serious problem during a landing sequence. "We might...uh... We might be picking up a bit of a spin here, Mal.." Turns out a "bit" of a spin, in this case, involves the ship slowly beginning to careen counter-clockwise as it begins to descend towards a nearby clearing, a bit too quickly for a comfortable landing on fixed landing gears. The side of the ship begins to list downwards at a bit of an angle. The spin increases. "A BIT of a spin?!?" complains the first voice.
Nasrin	Well, the clearing wasn't so far from the fortress. THe alarm was (quietly) sounded, since the strange ship didn't... seem to be malicious in intent. Sol, as the ship goes down, a pair of eyes is sent out to take a look. Siftly scaling down a ravine on the nearby mountain as the sun came up, keeping to shadows and under cover. Hood drawn up, traditional robes and cowl with a bright red sash wrapped around her waist, kept in place with a wide band of leather. As she came closer to the clearing where the 'air ship' had landed, her eyes give a slight narrow... a firefly? /Here/?
Malcolm Reynolds	The ship continues to spiral downward in a mostly-controlled descent, the engines whining to keep the ship from careening down into the earth. The spiral seems to have slowed up a bit, as the ship's pilot struggles for control, but it's still going to be a hell of a landing. "Wuh duh ma huh tah duh fong kwong duh wai shung (Holy Mother of God and All Her Wacky Nephews)" spits the ship's captain, pressing an anxious face against the clouded glass of the ship's side window. "MAL!" calls an annoyed-sounding female voice from further back in the ship. "Are you going to crash the ship again!!?" "Do us all a favor, and keep those sentiments to yourself, Ambassador!" shouts the captain, with an annoyed look to his features, as though this woman's yelling annoys him in an altogether different way than his ship being on the brink of possible destruction. "Ain't left a dime of it to you anyway!"
Nasrin	Nothing left to do but wait for impact. Nasrin clings to a rock, shielded from the possible crash sight as she purses her lips, and radios back to the fortress: "... I'm seventy percent sure it is safe. They are not from around here; I doubt they'll be abother... but I will standby." she replies, and just watches the Firefly spiralling, careening, struggling, and she just purses her lips. "... that certainly does look like Serenity. "... test my patience." she mutters to herself, and tries to think if they'll need mediclal help... whatever could be wrong with the ship now?
Malcolm Reynolds	The ship finally drops the remaining distance down to the ground, skidding a few feet and leaning ominously over for a few moments, before coming back to rest on flat, level ground. Not a comfortable landing, but certainly not the worst the crew of the Firefly-class transport has seen before. "Is everyone alright?" asks the ship's pilot, tenatively, glancing around the ship's bridge before discretely picking up a small plastic dinosaur that looks like it was knocked loose from the control panel. "Zoe, get the good Doctor to tend to the more...delicate members of the ship, if you would," says the ship's captain, with a pointed look in the direction of one of the ship's shuttles as he vaults the few stairs down from the bridge, and towards the rear of the ship. "Jayne! Get the Mule ready to go!" With a hydraulic hiss, the rear ramp slowly opens onto the still morning scene, settling down onto the short grass with a dull metal thud. Leaning out of the rear entryway, Mal takes a deep breath of the air, then steps out onto the ground. "Smells like work," he says, to nobody in particular.
Nasrin	And the hatch opens, the assassin's head tilting a moment as she brings the scarf that hides the lower half of her face up, and she draws downwards a few more rocks, then leaps, hopping to the ground. Stones skitter as she steps into view from around a boulder, hood drawn and stance confrontational. The wind kicks up, capturing the tails of her long tunic, regarding Malcom Reynolds with her thousand-yard stare, using her Eagle Vision to garner if he was still friend -- or if someone had enough money to turn even him foe.
Malcolm Reynolds	Many things could be said about Mal. Him being frequently surprised by the tendency of plans to, well, not go according to plan, is certainly not one of them. His hand drifts towards the handle of the rustic-styled firearm slung at an angle at his waist. He gets that semi-surprised-yet-still-at-ease sort of look, clearly not recognizing Nasrin beneath the scarf that veils her features. "Don't suppose you're the fellow I'm looking for," says the ship's captain, almost lazily. "Sounded a good bit...larger on the comm."
Nasrin	"And here I thought you were looking for me." comes Nasrin's voice, and she peels dow the scarf and pulls back the hood. Scarred chin, hazel eyes, and an amused expression on her face. Her hair isn't in its normal wrap she wore on Serenity, but braided and coming down around her neck. The Assassin actually gives a smile to the captain, and takes a few steps forward. "What brings you to my home in the multiverse, Captain Reynolds?" she inquires amicably.
Malcolm Reynolds	It's a rare thing that one of those times when the plan inevitably goes awry that the figure standing opposite the captain holding a deadly weapon turns out to be a friend. Even rarer that the figure is a member of the crew. The sight of the familiar hazel eyes brings out a twinkle in the captain's own cerulean ones. The assassin's familiar voice merits a slow, roguish smile from Mal, who folds his arms over his chest and leans against one of the hydraulic rods for the ramp. "Turns out it's a smaller 'Verse than I thought..." he says, bemusedly. "It's been a time, hasn't it?"
Nasrin	"A time, yes. Feels like another lifetime." Nasrin replies. She's grown, not the short, stunted-looking scrappy teenager she was when she first crossed paths with the crew -- and she was /only/ a part time member, anyway. She draws up to comfortable speaking distance, her eyes looking over Serenity as she regards Mal quietly. "She doesn't seem any worse for my absence." she smiles, but doesn't make a move to touch the ship and instead, turns to face Reynolds. "You did not answer my question though."
Malcolm Reynolds	"It does.." replies the captain, gaze flicking over the woman a moment or two in that quiet sort of analysis that he tends to when regarding someone. "And she's changed very little, truthfully," he answers again, patting the hydraulic beam with his hand, before calling back into the ship's interior: "Despite my pilot's deliberate efforts to the contrary!" He turns back, looking towards Nasrin once more, giving that quick, roguish smile that he favors. "Work," he replies, with the expected answer. "After Johnny dropped out of contact in New Vegas, we've had to start wandering a bit further out," he adds. "Was supposed to be picking up some sort of old military relic here...." he says, squinting as he looks off into the distance. "Didn't reckon we came in that early..."
Nasrin	"Be gentle with Wash, his dinosaurs will be upset." Nasrin gently chides the captain, crossing her own arms, "Had I known you were arriving, I would have changed into more recognizable clothes. I doubt it'll be easy to recognie me in these." she gives an amused sound, and then gives a surprised look when Mal mentions he was here on work. "A military relic?" NAsrin begins, and gets a little worried looking, glancing back up to the mountains. Her Brothers and SIsters, including the young ones were all still asleep there... if someone had moved military items this close... "... we would have heard something of it. Are your coordinates correct?" she asks,
Malcolm Reynolds	A displeased sort of look, though not entirely genuine, crosses Mal's features. This is certainly not the worst of surprises the ship's crew has had when they get off-course. "Probably paying more attention to those dinosaurs than the nav unit..." muses the captain, with a sidelong look back inside the ship, in the direction of the bridge. He squints towards the horizon again, before looking to Nasrin. "Don't much look like it to me either..." he agrees.
Nasrin	Nasrin heaves a sigh, and then rubs the back of her neck as she looks up at the captain. Oh was it /so tempting/ to go onboard and just pick up where they left off. "Well, the nav unit is secured to the ship, the dinosaurs aren't nailed down." Nas points out, almost playfully before she raises her eyebrow. "Does this contact have a name? If they operate in the area, one of my brothers might know." she offers.
Malcolm Reynolds	Now it's the captain's turn to give a sigh. "Didn't get the name. Sent out here by Badger, said he knew the guy..." he replies, leaning back against the hydraulics once more, the corners of his mouth curving upwards at her remark once more. There's an echo of voices from back inside the ship, and shortly, the telltale whine of the Mule being started up. "Don't need the Mule anymore, Jayne!" shouts the captain, turning away from Nasrin's gaze once more to look back into the ship. "Aww, come'n Mal, I just got -" "Badger's sent us out here for the fun of it!" Mal replies, a dark look crossing his features once more. He looks back towards Nasrin once more, exhaling. Seems things have not been as prosperous for the crew as they once were when the ship and crew first came to the Multiverse. The captain has looked tired before. And nearly always does so. But the distance travelled by the crew for this job, and the weariness of the captain's gaze shows they're running out of options. And Badger's latest ploy doesn't seem to have helped.
Nasrin	NAsrin pauses, glancing up into the hold at Jayne's voice, and then back to the Captain. A dark look crosses her face as she crosses her arms again, her hands curling, leather gloves giving a soft creak. "Well," she begins, shaking her head, "since you've come so far and stumbled upon my home, I can't let you leave..." And her lips purse, "... without feeding you and giving you some rest." she motions with her head, "Come, what we have may be plain, but it is real food, and not protein and carb bars."
Malcolm Reynolds	Maybe it's the ship's echo from the ramp entryway. Maybe it's Nasrin's way of being heard without needing to raise her voice. "Real food!?" Or maybe it's just Jayne's stomach. It seems like the captain might object for a minute, but Jayne quickly darts out of the ship, and the thudding of heavy boots coming from the stairs inside indicate that Kaylee or Zoe, or both, aren't far behind. "I'm sure we could stay for a meal, at least.." he replies, though it's evident the crew won't just be staying for a single meal. "Until we can sort out those coordinates, then," the captain decides, with a nod. He gives Nasrin a grateful look, flashes a quick smile, and gives a wink. "Let's see what you can slice up with those oversized knives of yours."