Mal: There ain’t-a one of us looks the part more than the good doctor. I mean, the pretty fits, soft hands, definitely a moneyed individual. All rich and lily-white, pasty all over—
Simon: All right! Fine, I’ll go. Just… stop describing me.

tagged: appearance

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Mal: That poor bastard you took off my ship. He looked right into the face of it. Was made to stare.
Harken: “It”?
Mal: The darkness. Kind of darkness you can’t even imagine. Blacker than the space it moves through.
Harken: Very poetic.
Mal: They made him watch. He probably tried to turn away, and they wouldn’t let him. You call him a survivor? He’s not. A man comes up against that kind of will, the only way to deal with it, I suspect, is to become it.

Bushwhacked

Inara: Does it seem every supply store on every water planet has the same five rag dolls and the same wood carvings of – what is this? A duck?

Mal: Someone ever tries to kill you, you try to kill ’em right back!

Jayne: Instead of us hanging around playing art critic till I get pinched by the Man, how’s about we move away from this eerie-ass piece of work and get on with our increasingly eerie-ass day, how’s that?

Kaylee: Catalyzer on the port compression coil blew. It’s where the trouble started.
Mal: Okay, I need that in captain dummy-talk, Kaylee.
Kaylee: We’re dead in the water.