Title Ride 'Em (or Trail o'Hotness, or I Almost Named This "Save An Ox, Ride A Tin Man)
Author Thorn "Lola" Goblinshimmer
Rating R overall; this part PG-13 for innuendo Disclaimer I own nothing. Don't even have a licensed copy of the game.
Spoilers All of Tin Man, House, Oregon Trail, and Firefly. Yes, really. Brief appearances by the Ninth Doctor in later chapters
Pairings Az/Glitch, DG/Cain (in their respective dreams), Inara/Taub, Jayne/Thirteen, Mal/River, Zoe/Wash, Kaylee/Simon, and the most complicated love kite ever to exist: House/Wilson/Cuddy, Wilson/Amber, Amber/Chase, and Chase/Cameron. Yes, all at once.
I.
Independence, MO
April 1, 1848
Five travelers disembark from a tornado. For some reason, nobody notices this. Just as well, since one of the women is wearing dungarees, one of the men has a zipper down the middle of his scalp, and one of them... has fur.
"DG," says the other woman, very fetching in deep green silk and black lace. "Shouldn't we get Glitch a hat?"
DG shakes her head, and every eye on the street is glued to her cascading black curls. "I have a better idea." She takes the fedora off the tall blond and plops it over the zipper. "See?"
The blond growls, but the lion-man takes his elbow. "DG mean well," he says. "Keep family safe. Cain not argue with that?"
Cain rolls his eyes. "No, Cain not argue. Princess crazy, but Dorothy forbid Cain argue."
"That's better!" says DG. "Come on, Az. I think I need a dress." She tugs her sister into Matt's General Store, leaving the three... men... at loose ends.
"Might as well hunt us down a wagon," Cain says. "And me another hat, 'cause I burn something fierce. Come on."
Like ducklings, the zipperhead and the lion-man toddle along behind. The good people of Independence are just stunned enough not to shoot.
Once said wagon has been acquired, they meet in the general store; DG puts Cain in charge of spending what little money they'd budgeted for their trip. "Somehow, I thought this would go further," she laments. "Well, you've done this before. At least, you look like you have."
"Never with animals," says Cain. "Uh. Matt, is it?"
The nearly-bald shopkeeper stops puffing on his pipe long enough to blow a ring of smoke in Cain's face. "That'd be me."
"Great." Cain rubs his hands together. "Hope you know about oxen and wagons, because we're about as green as sapling wood."
"No cheat," adds the lion-man. "Raw will know."
Just the thought of those claws sets Matt on edge. "No cheatin' here, no sir," he says. "Now, normally we recommend three yoke of two oxen each, but personally, four might last you longer."
"Makes sense," says Cain. "More oxen, more... backups. How much?"
Matt scribbles down a few numbers. "One-sixty. Fair?"
Cain looks at DG, who shrugs in a what's-an-ox? kind of way. "Fair, I suppose. How about trail rations?"
Unfortunately, the way the numbers crunch, there won't be enough cash left over for spare parts. "We should stick to three yoke of oxen," says Glitch. "Cut back on food, too. Can't we hunt along the trail?"
"Got a point there," says DG. "Between me and the Tin Man, I'm sure we can bring down a little game. Right?" She elbows Cain in the ribs. "C'mon. Two guns, plenty of ammo, we'll eat like royalty."
"No pun intended," Azkadellia mumbles. "I hope one of you can cook."
"I used to be a waitress," DG informs her sister. "Camp food shouldn't be too hard."
"Seven hundred pounds of food and three yoke of oxen should give us enough currency for the rest," says Glitch, who sounds a little different.
Matt wonders whether he's all there -- and, wisely, doesn't ask. "All right. You got a hunnert-twenty left. Make it count."
DG insists on fifty dollars' worth of ammunition ("I might miss!") and enough spare parts to cover their bad luck. This leaves ten dollars for clothing.
"Princess, you are not traveling naked," says Cain. "I want at least one set of spares for you and your sister."
"I'll trade this in." Az tugs on the lace at her throat. "It's completely impractical. We'll get blouses and skirts, one set each, and share. You are amenable to a little bargaining, Matt, aren't you?" She bats her day-long eyelashes at him, and he's lost.
Fifteen minutes later, the Crown Princess of the Outer Zone is wearing greenish-gray homespun and thoroughly enjoying it. DG won't part with her trousers, but she lets Cain buy her a shirt and an extra pair of pants, in case a different kind of storm catches them unawares. Glitch seems to like his jacket just fine, and Raw? Well, he's already wearing a coat.
Glitch and Cain adjust some of their provisions -- they won't actually finish seven hundred pounds of food, anyhow, and twenty boxes of bullets will do -- so there's still cash for emergencies along the trail. Since they've bought one set of men's clothing for DG, and it comes with a hat, Cain takes his old one back, giving the new one to Glitch. "No offense to your fine goods," he says to Matt. "You might say me and my hat go back a long way."
Matt chuckles. "Understood, sir," he says. "Best of luck. You'll need it."
They start out on April 2. DG insists on hunting. Using five bullets, she bags...
"A squirrel." She holds it up by the tail, disgusted. "Well, I can make a spare hat out of this. And -- hey, is there a meat grinder in the wagon?"
"Why?" asks Glitch.
DG grins, suddenly pleased with herself. "Who wants sausages for breakfast?"
On April 3, they take the wrong trail.
"This all your fault," Raw grumbles, taking the reins from Glitch. "Never let zipperhead navigate."
He's been reading the trail guide. Plenty of time for it, seeing as they're hopelessly lost.
DG tries to convince Cain to give her another go at the hunting thing, but he declines, taking the rifle out himself. He comes back with a hundred pounds of buffalo -- and the skin of another squirrel.
"No more sausages," he says. "Some meat just isn't worth it, Princess."
They reach the Kansas River crossing on April 13. There's a little inlet that's perfect for baths. Since Cain and Glitch both need their shirts washed, DG and Az kill two birds with one stone ("Is that like killing one squirrel with five bullets?" Glitch wonders) and go swimming in some of the most interesting gear this side of the Mississippi.
"Get hold of hormones," Raw insists, crossly, marching off to fetch the ladies out of a sudden squall.
That evening, Cain asks an old woman in the next wagon over for a cup of sugar. She clocks him with a ladle. "We could be stuck here for days! Gotta con-serve my rations."
He thinks of firelight, and pleasant evenings -- and being cooped up in the wagon with DG for a good half-week. The sooner the rain lets up, the better.
Before he has to face the question, their turn comes to cross. Since it's damn near midnight, Cain is not a fan of fording the river. "This old thing'll overturn."
"Bet me?" asks DG.
"No," he says. "Your mother would kill me with her bare hands. We're taking the ferry."
So they wait two more days and pay five precious dollars, but it's worth the expense, because nothing happens. Cain lets out the breath he's been holding the whole way across.
April 16. Wet again. Cain decides to chance it and head out hunting again.
"Maybe squirrel's not so bad," he admits over steaks that night.
April 22 -- the Big Blue River crossing. This one doesn't look so threatening. It's wider, but a bit shallower.
Glitch hears some advice about lame-footed oxen. Az, hearing him mutter over their leather collection, puts her own dainty foot down.
"We are not making ox booties," she declares. "Royal command."
She may or may not have the skins earmarked for a new corset, anyway.
They take their chances and ford the river. So much for those oxen; two drown in the middle. "I thought they could swim!" says DG. "Where's that shopkeeper? I want my money back."
Cain suspects she's more distressed over the loss of 130 bullets, and the thought of cutting back to barely a pound of food a day. "We've still got all the food, and 255 bullets besides," he tells her. "So we'll have some lean times. At least when you get back, the palace seamstresses won't hassle you about your waistline."
"Thank you very much," she snaps, elbowing him in the gut and walking away.