[ He's good - good enough that he moves appropriately. Not because of agility or physical ability, but because of watchfulness, paranoia: he started moving the moment Wash went for the knife, twisting to the side, expecting an attack. So the acorn hits him, but only his ear: it would have been a painful and disfiguring blow, but not a fatal one.

By bares his teeth, and laughs. It's not a defensive or embarrassed laugh; it's real, though rather vicious and nasty, amusement. Not exactly the reaction of a man who's wholly mentally stable.

Ah, well. The acorn drops back down the cliffside, buries itself amongst the dirt. ]

As I said, my little peacock. Pass. I'd sooner hide behind Miles - though I suppose I'd have to fold myself up quite a bit.