Another grunt. Hammer. Nails- wood. Nothing too big, might fall out. Nothing too flimsy, might crack. Words probably should be a thing- maybe. This ain't his ship, he can't get away with be'n an ass to everyone and hop'n a smile and wink when he's more hisself will do him much good. "Too bright."

When the setting sun spits in a man's eye, a man's gotta rear back and- find a damn way to make it quit spitting. Or duck.

Duck'n works too.

He manages to find a plank that's agreeable enough and shuffles back over to the stall, peering at the beam and following the line of light to a point high on the opposite wall. A hair too short to reach it on his own, Mal glares at it and considers his options. "...don't suppose there's a half decent ladder 'round here?"