All praise to Joss, who rules This Verse.
I wanted to write this as a send-up to the wild west elements in Firefly, as in the natural setting, the quirky people, and the themes and history. I'm also experimenting with some shorter more episodic story formats, and toning down the shipping aspects and florid descriptions. This section has only one part that might be construed as unnecessarily florid and shippy.
WARNING: This section also has hints of some darker stuff than I usually write about.
The roar of atmospheric re-entry split the fiery clouds of the early dawn sky, the turbines at Serenity's wingtips and the skill of her pilot cushioning the often frantic and malfunction-prone landing. As soon as the Firefly class B cargo ship settled onto the grassy bluff above the pasture lands, all nine of the travelers gathered at the main airlock for their first look at the new and unfamiliar world. In part an informal head count opportunity for the captain, the ritual never lost the sense of poignancy.
A cool, clean breeze drifted into the burnished metal of the cargo bay around them, carrying the essence of the prairie frontier. They shared in the experience, briefly drawn closer like the arm the lean soldier wrapped around her husband, and they all breathed deeply, a respite from the algae-filtered air of a week in transit.
Malcolm Reynolds spoke above their reverie, briefing them on the order of the day. "Don't let the idyllic scenery lull you now," he warned.
Even the prim and proper doctor from the coreworlds had joined them, surveying the view even as he held back his unpredictable sister from running out amid the daisies. "Yes," Simon observed, "that field of wildflowers looks deadly."
The captain shot an icy look at the Tam siblings - I don't pay you to be smart. They answered with their own. Actually, you do. He put his hands up. Whatever. "The town nearby," Mal continued, with particular emphasis, "is known as Temperance, and they like to live up to their name. Don't much like outsiders, particularly what peddle vice, trouble, or merry making."
"Columbine and lupine!" River pronounced, with a bright smile for her brother. The look faded, and her brow furrowed. "The doves among the wolves."
"What she said," Mal agreed.
As ever, Jayne Cobb blundered into the moment with all the mercenary delicacy of hired muscle. "We just gonna stand around here, or we plannin' to make some coin?" He was already armed with an unnecessarily large rifle.
Zoe detached herself from her embrace with Wash and joined Kaylee in looking over the hovermule. Shepherd Book stepped forward as the captain watched the proceedings. "I suppose that would be why we're runnin' moonshine to these folks," he mused.
Mal nodded. "In keeping with the natural order. Oft times a ban on alcohol don't last long, and it pays well to deliver to dry counties." He glanced over at the older man. "Problem, Shepherd? Wouldn't want those hairs of yours to turn any more grey."
Book grinned back, holding his bible close. "Actually, preachers are known to have some communion with the spirits now and then," he replied, with humour and some nostalgia. "Back at the Abbey, we even had our own distillery."
"That's cordial. Isn't that cordial, Zoe?" Wash asked. The first mate waved a hand at him, acknowledging the joke.
The little mechanic looked up eagerly, a smudge of grease already adorning one of her cheeks. "You mean like raspberry flavoured?" Kaylee wondered.
"I could go for some," Jayne said, keenly interested in the liquor conversation.
"All right," the captain intervened, before his crew could chatter the day away. "Best behaviour. You can all talk about culture later." He addressed the dark-haired companion gracefully approaching him from the side, her silk dress whispering and her doe-eyes studying him from under thick eyelashes. "That goes for you too. Be careful out there."
"Me?" Inara asked, halfway between amusement and disbelief. "You're the one who's always getting into trouble."
"I mean it," Mal insisted. "If you have any clients..." He shook his head. He didn't want to talk about her clients. "Well, what's legal in the core might not be given so much leniency out here."
She regarded him coolly. "Perhaps they appreciate thieves and smugglers more." The courtesan floated off, and as he caught the subtle perfume she left in the air, belatedly he thought to be curious why she'd been walking over to him in the first place. The mule backfired and interrupted his curiosity. Right. Time to head into town and make their deliveries.
River spoke up again. "They say it's haunted."
He looked at her where she'd materialized by his elbow. "Who does?" he asked.
The teenage psychic turned her unnerving gaze on him. "The ghosts."
= = = = =
The heat was a swelter, mindless wrath that beat with violence upon the numbed senses. The wastelands felt nothing, knew nothing. Only the brutal facts of existence - of four days of walking to reach water, and nothing but sand for miles and miles. A stirring of dust, and the thunder of hoofbeats, echoes already long gone beyond the mirage of the horizon.
"Good riddance to them," Vinny said. It was all she could think of.
He smiled up at her, his head on her lap, with all the fevered ardor and cluelessness of a man in love. "It'll be all right," he promised her. So much promise. Last week she'd pledged her life to him in that little chapel, before they'd had to run. Sweet Elian, still thinking on her, even now. Didn't even blame her for the trouble she'd brought down on him.
She'd been gentle once, and pure, until she'd caught a greedy eye. Maybe if she just stayed still, she could fade into the landscape. Her golden tresses and her bones, and all the blood on her hands, in his hair, down her legs, staining her torn dress. She supposed some sins just don't wash away. Never rained here anyway.
Five years ago, two lovers died in the desert, and no one shed a tear.