[ Tired as he is, Wash always snaps to attention the moment there's anything he associates with danger, and his response to something being dropped at him is instinctive, reaching up quickly enough to deflect it with his free hand -- ambidextrous, you see. It bounces off his forearm, and Wash manages to catch it as it falls.
An acorn. He glances at it, lifts an eyebrow, tosses it somewhere over his shoulder as he pushes himself away from the face of the cliff, looking up -- and there he is. Byerly fucking Vorrutyer. Looking just a bit nauseous. ]
If you're going to throw up, give me a little heads up to get out of the way, Vorrutyer. [ So dryly, staring up at him, still spinning the knife in his hand. ] I'm not that kind of guy.
no subject
An acorn. He glances at it, lifts an eyebrow, tosses it somewhere over his shoulder as he pushes himself away from the face of the cliff, looking up -- and there he is. Byerly fucking Vorrutyer. Looking just a bit nauseous. ]
If you're going to throw up, give me a little heads up to get out of the way, Vorrutyer. [ So dryly, staring up at him, still spinning the knife in his hand. ] I'm not that kind of guy.