Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own any of these wonderful characters, or even the setting and world of Firefly. They all belong to Fox/Universal and Joss Whedon.
James Norrington and related belongs to Disney, Gore and Ted and Terry.
Setting: Takes place right after Down the Aisle
Pairings: Kaylee/Simon, Mal/Inara
Chapter 1: Instrumental
-
She could still hear the sound of the lash, the old leather had dried to a point that it would form a crack each time it would fall hard against her flesh. She had only made one sound with the first strike, and that was a mere whimper. She no longer cried out in pain or terror. They wanted her to cry, they wanted her to scream and beg, watch as streams of hot tears run down her cheeks. She did not make any more sounds; she merely shuddered from the pain.
“You have gotten braver since the last time,” the man with the whip had told her. “Braver and stronger.” He grabbed a handful of her tangled hair and pulled, forcing her head to rise up. “Either your spirit is broken and you can no longer scream, or your resistance has grown.”
She did not say a single word. She only merely closed her eyes and tried to ignore the stinging of the fresh wound on her back.
“Let see if this will do anything,” he cracked the whip again, the corner struck against her cheek, barely missing her eye.
“You idiot,” another man pulled the lash out of the hands of the first. “Don’t you see she is no longer a child? She has the buds on her chest?”
“I can see, just as well as you can,” the first man chuckled.
“They are not going to pay for a female with a scarred face.”
“It wasn’t that deep a cut.”
It had felt deeper than it looked, but still she did not scream and tried to force the tears to return to her eyes. She could not shed one, not allow them to see they have gotten to her.
“You better hope it is not that deep.”
“If no one buys her then I can take her.”
“You better not let Culver hear you talk like that, or it would be your flesh that receives the lash.”
“Trust me. He will never know.”
It had been hours since she had last been whipped. The cuts had been cleaned and treated and her wounds had been dressed, including the one near her eye. She had wanted to cry once the men had left, but she knew the salt in the tears would burn her face. She would not cry and waited and hoped for the one who made a promise.
-
Malcolm Reynolds rarely had the opportunity to admire Serenity while she floated in the middle of the black. Most jobs took place within a planetary atmosphere; it was different watching her fly through the blue sky than it was watching her in the middle of space. It was the primary reason why he enjoyed the salvage jobs; well it was one of the primary reasons. The other was the money.
“This could have been done a lot faster,” Jayne Cobb was not one to enjoy beauty or tranquility in any form, unless it was in the form of food or a pretty woman.
“I don’t want to hear it, Jayne.” Mal held onto the other side of the shiny crate he and Jayne were carrying. It was the last of the cargo from the abandoned shipping vessel, the Valentine.
“I’m just saying if we had suited up the doc or the gal, or even the new guy we would have hauled this load back a hell a lot faster.”
“The girl is not build for lugging around cargo,” Mal said as they neared the open hatch of Serenity’s cargo hold. The inner air lock door was sealed shut. “Doc tends to loose it when he is in one of these suits and the commodore has never been out before.”
“Now is a good time as any,” Jayne shifted himself so that his feet managed to touch the metal floor first.
“Will you quit your griping?”
“What is he complaining about, now?” Zoë was waiting for them amongst the other white crates. All were similar in size and captured the reflections from the three of them and all were marked with the letters M and P.
“The usual,” Mal pressed a few buttons and the hatch closed behind them. “Thinks the three of us are not enough.”
Zoë rolled her eyes at the mercenary. “Underestimating me again, Jayne?”
“Naw,” Jayne shook his head. “Just think that some of the crew are not doing their fare share.”
“You do have a point,” Mal would have rubbed his chin, but he had to wait for the inner hatch to open or oxygen to fill the airlock. “Jayne, how about you clean the toilets once we get our money?”
“Hey, now wait a second.”
“You said it yourself,” Zoë shrugged.
“I was talking about the others.”
“The others do their fair share of work, and they don’t complain.”
“Aint even my turn for the toilets.”
“It could be your turn,” Mal pressed one last button. “That is if you don’t stop complaining about every little thing.” Hopefully that will shut him up.
Jayne looked like he was about to say something more when the inner air lock slid open, revealing the spacious cargo hold with catwalks and metal ladders, and one crew member waiting for them.
“I take it this is what we came for?” James Norrington pointed at the crates. He had dressed considerably well for the upcoming drop off and collect payment. His black shirt he had selected had a strange golden pattern down the center along with the buttons and he wore it under a leather vest. His pants of choice were deep blue in color.
“Pretty much,” Mal pointed at the letter. “Max Palmer. That is the guy who is paying us for getting his stuff.”
“Doesn’t it feel good that we are doing an honest job?” James grabbed the opposite end of the crate, Mal had picked up and the two of them carried it to the center of the hold.
“It will feel good when we get the payment,” Jayne said as he and Zoë grabbed another crate.
“Jayne, can you think and not talk?” Zoë asked him.
“Why should we walk on our tootsies about what we do? Jimbo knows what we does.”
Mal had sucked in his breath when he heard the nickname. “Jayne, how many times do I have to remind you to not call him that?”
“I forgot.”
“To not call me Jimbo?” James asked.
“Naw, I forgot the number.”
“Sometimes it does feel good,” Mal said as they lowered the crate. In truth it did. There was less risk, didn’t have to fear any fed squad looking for them. “Sometime we may even find some more.” He noticed the worried look in James’s eye. “Nobody claims them and nobody wants em, then what is the harm?”
“You did not take anything else,” James said.
“Other scavengers beat us,” Zoë explained. “Already picked the place clean.”
“How come they didn’t touch Mr. Palmer’s cargo?”
“You see this?” Mal pointed the side of one of the crate, right at the center of the star shaped lock. “It has a double punch lock. The only way to open it is with the key. Unlike combination and digital locks there is no code to crack or hack. They can’t even open it with dynamite and unless they have a real strong power tool, they can’t cut through it.” He grabbed on end first.
“Mr. Palmer went through a lot of precaution and preparation to make sure his cargo is safe.” James raised his eyebrows. “Do we even know what is inside?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” Mal said as they carried it to the others. “All I know is we are getting a good share of money when we land on Salisbury.”
-
The fans were whirling quietly, yet they did little to cool off the heat caused by the spotlight’s over head. Sweat permeated out of every pore on Cyn’s body, causing the silver top to stick to her flesh. She was thankful she had chosen the cotton denim with pink ribbon belt instead of the snakeskin pants. Her legs needed to breath and she would have passed out in the middle of the stage. She had nearly forgotten how bad some the lights were. The stories lasted in her mind long enough to influence her to keep her hair cut in a fringed bob and not use much make up. She had only used silver liner for her eyes and crimson lipstick that could last the multiple sips she took from her bottle of water.
Ray also kept his hair short, almost bald. He was not wearing that ridiculous hat of his. Cyn could not read the emotions off him as he played, his arms dancing around his drums, palms and fingers striking different beats to the rest of the music. Ray had worn his favorite pair of bluish purple sunglasses.
Dustin’s hair was no longer wild as the flames of a bonfire. Sweat and oil had weighed it down and made it limp. He had already peeled off his shirt and mopped up most of the perspiration with a towel. Cyn had to admire his energy. Through out their fast songs he bounced around on stage, thrusting his legs out at odd angles. She was going to make sure he took several long sips of ice-cold water after the song was over.
Amistance seemed to be cool, but then she wasn’t moving as much. Her fingers seemed to fly over the keys. She still wore butterflies in her hair, but most of her locks, including the pale blond streak had been gathered into multiple braids. Her eyes met with Cyn’s a second before she tilted her head back to join in on singing along with the chorus
Alfie also remained cool. He only swayed his hips along with the music, barely moved his feet, although he should, give the audience what they want. His hair was growing out again, to the point he could collect a small tuft into elastic. He wouldn’t let it get too long, parts of it poof out and the rest hangs limply, turning into what he called a frollet.
Cyn turned to face the audience,
her eyes on the people in the first few rows as they bounced along to the
rhythm. Some have even heard of them and were shouting out their names. She
glanced at the back of the room, where a small handful of the wait staff had
gathered, revealed that with many people watching there were less tables to
wait on and they could relax. Cyn could see
“That was called ‘Everywhere,’” Cyn said when the song was over. She had already grabbed onto her near empty water bottle. “Next one is a love ballad we have been working on for a week in our rooms.” They had to rent rooms from the nearest motel. Their ship was charred to the point where it was unlivable, most of the fires were in the dining are and the cockpit. They were lucky they were able to salvage most of their things. “Then we got about two more and it is over.”
The collective groan of the audience was her reply.
“Don’t worry folks,” Dustin grabbed onto his microphone. “Plenty of stuff to do and I bet you are getting hungry as we are. You have to try the chicken and Portobello on angel hair pasta. It is one of the best things I have ever tasted.”
Cyn sought out
-
The one thing that Mal had learned through out his years as a smuggler for hire is that the folk who pay tend to have muscle around, even established members of high society like Jonas Hammond had Brusque, so it came no surprise for Mal to find himself staring into the eyes of two men who stood with their arms crossed. One was tall, seemed a bit on the thin side and was as pale as scraped bone. The other was shorter than Mal and built like a tank.
“Evening gentleman,” Mal grinned. “We got a delivery for Max Palmer.”
“Is he expecting you?” Tall and Ghostly asked.
“His brother sent us,” Mal explained before he turned to the others. None of the hired goons was packing any swords. James wasn’t really needed although the former Commodore was carrying a gun under that blue coat of his as well as his blade. “Probably sent a wave to let us know we are coming. My name is Malcolm Reynolds.”
“The Maestro sent you?” Ghostly asked again. His cohort was talking into transmitter, most likely to let his boss know they had arrived.
“No maestro sent us,” Jayne said. “Just the guy who owned that music store.”
“Jayne,” Zoë nudged their merc.
“This is about the cargo from the Valentine?” Man Brick asked.
“That would be the one,” Mal said.
The two grunts nodded towards each other before they stepped aside. “He is expecting you.”
Max Palmer was a short man, even shorter in height than Cutler Beckett. He wore his graying hair long, and tied back by brightly colored cloth, probably trying to draw attention away from the receding hairline and scalp that reflected the dim lights.
“Welcome, welcome,” Max spread out his arms. “My brother told me you own a Firefly 03-k64 Midbulk transport ship with a standard radion accelerator-core.”
“How he know all that?” Jayne asked.
Mal raised his hand for silence. “That is about right.”
“How does she run?”
“She doesn’t run,” James said. “She flies, and she flies like a dream.”
“All her parts working?” Max raised his wiry eyebrows.
“Yes, but we are not here to talk about my ship,” Mal folded his arms. “We are here to talk about your cargo.”
“You got it all?”
“All eight of them crates,” Jayne answered.
“Excellent,” Max rubbed his sausage like fingers together. “Sorry if I get a little excited. I sell parts, ship parts and also I like to purchase old worn down ships from junkyards, have my boys and gals work on them, make them new and shiny, and then resell em.”
The guy did seem to be as oily as the man Mal had bought Serenity from. , Although he knew his ships. Kaylee would probably like him, see him as an uncle she had never met.
“It sounds like you have a bit of a talent,” James complimented. “Or at least a good idea to make money.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” Max pursed his lips and nodded. “Now you, Captain Reynolds, you seem like a busy man. I know what you want to discuss and that is the payment.”
“Read you like a book sir,” Zoe said.
“Of course I can’t give you anything, unless I see that everything is okay.”
“Understand perfectly,” Mal turned to Jayne and James. “Bring in the box.”
Both the mercenary and the commodore stepped outside and shortly returned with one of the crates. They set it down a few inches from Max.
“I hope you got the key.” Mal said.
“It would be kind of dumb if I didn’t,” Max pulled out a long piece of round plastic with a toothed metal end and stuck it in the lock. Instantly the two side panels closed in around the key. Max pressed his thumb against the back of the key and two plastic flaps struck out on the sides. Tiny green lights flickered while a high-pitched whine was heard before the panels slid back. The businessman turned the key around until they all heard the click.
“Kind of impressive how that works,” Mal whispered to James, earning a nod from the British man.
Max flipped over the lid and peered inside. “Compression coils, and accelerators.” Max grinned. “You got em.”
“We get the money?” Jayne asked.
“Oh yeah you do.”
“How much?” Mal asked.
“I originally was going to pay the folk on the Valentine about three thousand, but I throw in an extra K for you guys since you managed to deliver.”
“I’m not liking it,” Mal breathed in. “I usually don’t go for less than seven thousand.”
“Oh I see,” Max, said, a tone of understanding and admiration was in his voice. “I’ll make it about Five thousand.”
“I think we can scrimp by on six thousand and five hundred.”
“Six thou and two fifty?”
“ Six K and Two hundred and fifty?”
“That would be the price.”
“Then it is a deal,” Mal held out his hand.
“A done deal,” Max sealed the deal with a handshake. “I don’t know if you are hungry or not.”
“You are going to feed us too?” Jayne asked.
“Not me. The place across the street, it is called Reno’s Bar and Grill. They make these thick hamburgers, the type they give you a steak knife to use. You do not understand what I mean by the meat.” He placed his two fists together. “It is about this size and the chili burger is the best, and their steaks are also thick. You need a shovel to turn it over.”
“Thanks for the rec,” Mal nodded. He hadn’t thought about food, but now his stomach was making the mating call of a weasel and the steak does sound tempting.
-
“Bad news sir,” Zoë returned from the hostess.
“Let me guess,” Mal placed his hands on his belt. “Not a seat in the house?”
“Only seats are on the other side of the place,” Zoë nodded to the area were people sat around large hookahs on cushions. There were the wild sounds of either gambling or an arcade or even possibly both.
“Look,” Kaylee pointed to one corner of the gaming side of the room. “They have skeeball.”
“You thinking of playing, little Kaylee?” Mal raised his eyebrows.
The mechanic shrugged. “Not much else to do until we wait for a table.”
She did make sense. “Zoë did you mention how many were in our party?”
“I did,” Zoë held up the signal ring. “Do you want to wear it, or shall I?”
“I think it looks better on you,” Mal noticed Jayne was sneaking off. “Where are you going Jayne?”
“I was going to see if there were some Blackjack.”
“Who’s money are you going to use?”
Jayne rolled his shoulders back. “My own?”
“Exactly,” Mal nodded and turned to his remaining crew. Inara had left Serenity, in her shuttle to visit with a client while he was dropping off Max’s cargo, and Kaylee and Simon had wandered off to play skeeball. He was surprised River hadn’t gone with them. “Since there are the four of us we can play small game of pool. Darling, how about you team up with me. I have to get some sort of handicap.”
“Your funeral sir,” Zoë said before turning to James. “You don’t mind partnering up?”
“It would be my honor,” James smiled. “Would anyone care for something to drink?”
“I would like some grape soda,” River said.
“Nothing too fancy,” Zoë told him. “A beer would work.”
“A Mai Tai,” Mal said, earning a look from both Zoë and James. “I’m in the mood for something different.”
-
Cyn stared at her Mai Tai. She had already eaten the cherry and was constantly chewing on the stem while half listening to the guy on her right bitch about the Independents and Alfie discussing their finances.
“I’m thinking we could at least pay for passport to Beaumonde,” Alfie said before he took another sip from his beer. “Still not near enough cash for our own ship.”
“My ship,” Ray groaned before he took another sip from his drink, a cocktail named Death in the Afternoon. A drink he had said that suited his mood. “She was mine, before us it was her and me.”
“Oh come out of it.” Alfie rolled his eyes.
“He lost his ship,” Amistance glared at him before she smiled at the bartender who handed her her Lemon Drop.
“You don’t understand,” Cyn remembered the last time Ray had become depressed. He locked himself in his bunk for a week. “He has to snap out now before it escalades. Ray’s depression swings are one half emotion and the other half is theatrics.”
“You are saying he is a bit of a drama queen?” Amistance asked.
“Boy, do I ever.”
“I remember that one wave,” Dustin took a sip from his Corpse Reviver, he didn’t ask because it was one of his favorites, nor did he ask because it fit his mood. He just liked the name of it. “He was sitting behind you, drumming his hands on your table while he spouted poetry about how dark and meaningless his life was.”
“My life has no meaning with out my ship,” Ray sighed. “She was my Vunder Bus.”
“Never going to get a ship of our own if we don’t get cash,” Cyn said. “The Battle of the Bands will earn us some serious coin,” and possibly a contract and a way she can get the word out. She had to do it for them. “And we won’t win if you don’t get over your funk.”
“What about my suggestion for paying passage.”
“It sounds good,” Cyn brought the edge of the thin straw to her mouth. “Where are we going to find a ship that is willing to take on passengers?” She sucked in her drink, listening to the same drunkard talk to someone on his other side.
“Browncoats that was what they were called. They wore them big ole swishy coats,” the man slurred. “You coat is kinda swishy, but it aint brown, it’s blue. What is with that gold trim?”
“Honor and rank,” the man on the other side said. He had a unique accent; probably from one of the planets the people of British decent had colonized.
“What kind of rank is that?” The drunk continued. “Looks kinda sly.”
“If you mean cunning then you are correct.”
“Where have I heard that voice?” Cyn asked.
“What do you do with that sissy coat?”
“I assist my captain,” the second man answered.
“Assist him in bed?”
“Why don’t you shut the hell up?” Cyn turned to the drunk. “I’m surprised they are not escorting your butt out of here.”
“She has a point,” the lady behind the bar pointed to the door. “You had enough.”
“I have had enough when I have had enough,” the man belched. He slid off the stool and took one step towards the door before he fell forward and landed on his face.
“I would certainly say he had enough,” the other man said. “I hope the don’t throw him in a nearby pig pen.”
“I’m just going to have one of the bouncers toss him outside,” the bar tender pressed her transmitter.
“That is one way of getting rid of rubbish,” Cyn studied the tall man’s face. She knew she had seen those green eyes before. “I’m sorry. I am certain I have seen you before. Have you been on Salisbury for long?”
“No,” he shook his head. “We have just arrived.”
“You haven’t been on any Skyplex’s recently?”
“I have only been to the Lady Washington.”
“We have been there. We may have seen you before we performed.”
“Yes,” He smiled. “I remember you. Miss Cyn?”
“You are something Norrington. Jeffery, John, Jason-“
“James.”
“Right,” Cyn nodded. “It is a small universe.” She talked with him briefly in front of a Companion house. He said he was in the shipping business.
“It seems bigger when you compare spending most of your life on one single planet.”
“Still on that cargo ship, what kind of ship was it?”
“Serenity? She is a firefly.”
“A firefly,” a cargo ship with bunks for passengers. “I need to ask a favor of you.”
-
Replies:
Ogreatrandom, Thanks. We don’t get to see that often. I loved his “I read a poem” quote in Serenity.
Jas-TheMaddTexan, Knowing Cyn it would be the Virgin. Thank you for the review.
MAndrews, thank you