--first draft – Lady of New Melbourne – Firefly fanfic, featuring Capt. Reynolds--
Captain Malcolm Reynolds strolled through the busy marketplace, taking in the sights. His crew had dispersed for the day, no doubt taking in all the wonders the tiny planet had to offer. Hawkers called to him from stalls, trying to interest him in their merchandise, and chickens clucked from woven cages suspended in the air over some booths. He smiled politely and declined as a woman, clad in a simple homespun dress, offered him his pick of a tray of trinkets. He moved on through the marketplace, heading towards the cross-streets where he vaguely remembered seeing a tavern.
Suddenly, the way was blocked as a melon-seller's mule spooked and jumped forward with a cart full of the fragrant, sweet melons that grew so well in the hot, humid seaside town. The captain stopped, jostled by other people whom also found their way blocked. The melon vendor was yelling at the mule, trying to shove him backwards, while the mule snorted and neighed in the vendor's face. Malcolm stepped forward, suppressing a grin, and grabbed the mule's harness to move it, and the full cart, out of the road. The vendor smiled in relief and said something in an incomprehensible language as they moved the mule slowly backwards, step by step.
Malcolm dusted his hands off and was waving off the vendor's offer of three melons as payment for his help when he felt his belt shift. Dropping his hand to his waist, he immediately recognized the absence of his gun.
"Hey!" he yelled, turning and scanning the people crowded around. Most turned a blank stare to him, but one man with a black beard pointed backward as he fought his way through the crowd. He stopped to scan the crowd again, and saw it: a girl with dirty blonde hair walking quickly, but calmly, through the crowd away from him. He darted after her. She sneaked a glance behind her and saw him, and suddenly began running. He charged after her, scattering people as he rushed through the dirty streets.
Dust and feathers flew in his face as he leapt over the chicken-monger's stall he had passed minutes before, following the blonde girl as she darted down a dark alleyway. Cursing under his breath, he followed her. She leapt like a doe over some stacked crates, which he stumbled upon. In a flash, she rounded another corner and he tore after her.
He stopped as soon as he rounded the corner. Crates were piled haphazardly, and two doorways opened onto the dark alleyway. A dead-end, Mal's mind also registered the obvious threat.
He crept forward slowly, conscious of the fact he didn't have his gun and would have to react quickly if he was to react at all. Peering through the slats of the crates, he advanced carefully, alert to the slightest noise.
Then it came – the quick, almost silent intake of breath. He froze, glancing this way and that. Then he saw a lock of blonde hair, obviously still attached to its owner, behind a crate. He noiselessly moved forward, slowly, and saw the dim outline of the arm of the girl. With a sudden rush, he caught her arm and, ignoring her squeal, dragged her backwards from the dark doorways.
She fought him then, and though he was unquestionably stronger, he was surprised at her strength. He turned her around then, roughly, and shoved her against the wall. She kicked at him, and he lowered her head to meet her gaze.
"Hey!" he barked, "That's flesh you're going for there, missy."
She stared at him, her brown eyes swimming with tears, still breathing hard.
"And that's my private property," he said, dropping his gaze to the gun she still held. "You want to give it back?"
He looked at her threateningly, then, and she shrank back against the wall, but said nothing.
"You know, stealing's a crime in this world, did you know that? Unless you want me to drag you back to the proper side of town, you're going to hand me that gun there."
"Mister," she said suddenly, tears starting anew, "I really really need it. Please, mister, you're the fine sort, I'm sure you have lots of guns somewhere, can I just have this one?"
"They have plenty of fine guns in this town," he said, not relinquishing his grip, "I'm sure you can buy one at-"
"But that's the problem, Mister, I don't have no money to buy a gun. Can I just borrow it? You can have it back in a few days, I promise!"
"Now what use would a little miss like you have for a gun?" he asked, "In particular – my gun."
"I can't tell nobody that."
"Now – what did you say your name was?"
She paused, and he nodded in such a way that it was understood she would go nowhere if she didn't comply/ Grudgingly, she gave him her name. "Twila."
"Twila. Now Twila, generally we don't let little girls run around with stranger's guns. That's not considered a good thing. In fact, it can get people in trouble, did you know that?" He said dryly.
"But I need it!" she said with desperate passion, "I need it to protect Morrigan!"
"Morrigan?" He pretended to think, then said, "Don't know any Morrigans. I'll be taking my gun back then –"
He reached for it, and with a swift and unexpected movement, she kicked him, hard, in the shin. He let out a grunt of pain and she struggled, but to his credit, he did not let go of the urchin.
"Let me go, mister, let me go!" she yelled, "Let me go or I'll … I'll shoot you!"
She suddenly aimed the gun in her hands at him, the barrel pointing at his chest. Mal froze, gazing down at her tear-stained face and the overlarge gun held in her tiny hands.
"Tell you what, Twila," he said, slowly, "You un-aim that gun at me, and I'll come see this Morrigan and we can negotiate about the gun from there, how's that? I may even feel extra-nice and sell it to you at a discount."
"I don't need no help, Mister," Twila answered, her hands shaking with the effort of holding the gun. Mal felt a stab of pity for the girl, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I jus' need a gun."
Mal let her go, then, noticing the safety was still on, and knelt before she could move so his face was even with hers. It registered with him that for a young girl, no more than in her eighth summer, was ready to steal and kill a stranger for a gun, she must have a powerful need.
He softened his voice and said, "Look, Twila, if someone's doing something bad to you, you let me know. I don't hold with hurtin' kids."
"No one's doing nothing bad to me, Mister, but I need to protect Morrigan," she said in a softer, quavery voice.
"Who's Morrigan?" he asked in a gentle tone, "And why's she need a gun?"
The girl seemed torn, then said, "If I tells you, Mister, you promise you won't tell no-one? Morrigan'll be in trouble if anyone finds out."
"I don't know any one on this world outside of my crew," Mal said, "I ain't gonna tell anyone."
The nerves and adrenaline that had been fueling the girl suddenly seemed to fade, and her face scrunched up tearfully. "Morrigan's my sister," she said, "An' she's going to be killed if I don't get a gun."
Mal stared at the girl who openly started to cry before him. "I think you need to start the story over and tell me why Morrigan's going to be killed if you don't get a gun," he said slowly.
Twila seemed to wilt, the gun drooping in her hands. Mal shifted abruptly so that the muzzle was not aimed at his privates.
"Morrigan's my sister," Twila started again, in between hiccuping sobs, "An' we been livin' on the land outside of Sanserra, aways from here, on the land where no one else wants. Jorn Mayor, he owns the land, and afore his wife died, he said me an' Morrigan can live there 's long as we keep it neat an' Morrigan keeps house for them."
Mal blinked – the name Jorn Mayor clanged a note of remembrance in him, but he couldn't quite place it. The girl rubbed her eyes with her dirty hand, smearing the dust across her face.
"Since Jorn Mayor's wife died, though, he changed. He tole Morrigan that if she wants to keep alive on the land, she'll have to become his mistress. An' Morrigan said she'd die afore she'd become his mistress. Jorn said somethin' else an' Morrigan was so mad about it, an' she tole me that she talked to a friend of hers who has some land outside o' here. Then Morrigan said we hadta pack our things and we left really late one night."
"So we leaves and went to two towns over, Hadras. We rented some house there, really small, and the man who owned the land said that as long as Morrigan was nice to him and helped him with his crop, we could stay. But after awhile, Jorn found out where we were and sent some man over to come get us home, but Morrigan refused to go and she distracted him with somethin' and we ran out the back."
"Where did you go?" Mal asked quietly.
"We walked a long ways, I don't know, Morrigan knows all about getting food off'n the land and stuff, an sometimes we hitched rides on hay carts. An we went into Sanvirra, which I heard was a hundred miles or somethin' away from Sanserra. That's somethin' like twenny miles from here. An' Jorn found us again – I dunno how, he sent the man to come get us again. This time, Morrigan hit him hard and he didn't get up."
The girl paused in her story, and Mal thought he could see where it was going.
"Well, we been livin' here prolly about a month now. Morrigan's friend Karn comes into town and gets us supplies, and last time Karn got dragged off and came back all bruised up, and she tole Morrigan we had to run again and go someplace else, 'cause Jorn found us and he sent a mean man to go beat Karn up and find out where we were. But Morrigan said no matter where we go, Jorn's going to follow and now we got to take a stand."
"Sounds like an awful lot of trouble for a lady," Mal said. He had slipped his hand around the gun and lifted it out of the girl's unresisting fingers and holstered it quietly.
"Thing is, Jorn's going to come hisself this time. Morrigan says she'll strangle him with her hands if she has to, but I know what's going to happen – I saw Jorn beat up a farmhand of his, he's powerful strong and mean and he'll drag Morrigan back if he has to. That's why I need help, Mister. An' if Jorn finds out Morrigan's staying and plans to hurt him and never go back to Sanserra, he'll kill her in a second, I know he will. We ain't got money for a gun so I tole Morrigan I'd get it somewhere. She said no but she don't know I'm here, in town... she'll be so mad when she finds out..." the girl tried to stifle her sobs further, biting one of her fingers.
Mal stood then, regarding the girl. Hope had flared in her eyes but was guarded warily, she held back a quiet sob as he looked at her.
"Well, Twila," Mal said, "You can call me Captain Reynolds." Twila's eyes swam with tears again as he held out his hand. "Let's go see your sister and see what I can do."
Twila took his hand, and led him out of the alleyways.