Crowley doesn't - it looks like this is important, somehow. Maybe not the fresh coat of paint, but the painting. Or maybe it's just that it's Kaylee, in her space, working, whilst beside her, Serenity's heart sings.
Crowley doesn't want to interrupt, so instead he picks a crate, and takes a seat, helmet on his knees.
After a while she coughs, and straightens, spine making a snapping sound or two. The brush gets left, delicately, in the pan; Kaylee drags her sleeve across her eyes and sits back on her heels.
Comments 85
It's not true red -- pinkish; muted. Rose madder. The casing is done; now she's painting the walls, kneeling, by the base.
The room isn't sparkling. This is always the place to get down and dirty, to let deceptively strong hands manipulate a machine and make it sing.
Kaylee didn't take care to line the deckplating so to keep it free from drops of red paint. There's not much of it anyhow.
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Crowley doesn't want to interrupt, so instead he picks a crate, and takes a seat, helmet on his knees.
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And mutters, barely audible: "Son of a whore."
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