River Song in a Firefly- the mind races...
She'd been aiming for the TARDIS. A girl couldn't just sit in prison waiting for the fun to come to her and besides, she missed her husband.
She has appeared in the bay of a swiftly moving ship, and a decidedly non-TARDIS scent and sound envelopes her- right before a hammer cocks in the air above her head. Her fingers are at her vortex manipulator in a flash but not quite fast enough. A male voice drawls out a command not to move and warns against sudden movements, and she smiles at the sound. Hands up in mock surrender, she raises her eyes to the walkway above and waits. The man who's just spoken stands in her direct eyeline, and she lets her gaze travel slowly over his worn boots, fitted pants, red shirt beneath suspenders over a decidedly fit chest, and a handsome face beneath thick dark hair with a hint of wave. His dark eyes are piercing, and his mouth is set in a firm line beset by the occasional twitch. She can tell he's trying not to fidget and can't quite answer himself as to why; her smile widens to reveal a dimple and even white teeth. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up a few turns, revealing sleekly muscled forearms, well formed wrists, and hands quite nice for a man (thought not quite as beautiful as the Doctor's, she thinks) gripping a pair of glistening long barrel revolvers. The dichotomy of his weapons, speech pattern, and clothing against the technology of the ship in which they stand has her sliding one brow up towards her hair line as she mentally does the math. He swallows at the motion, and her mouth resets to a quirky smirk as the silence stretches between them a while.
"Whaddya reckon, Sir? If you've decided to roll that tongue of yours back into your mouth, that is..." A warm, wry, feminine tone has sounded over River's left shoulder and she winks at the man in charge (a Captain, perhaps) before turning her head to identify the new speaker. An Amazon stands frowning down at her. Booted feet planted in a firm stance, fitted jeans, a leather cincher and gauntlets at her wrists and waist, a sleek shirt, and a thin cord (probably leather) double wrapped around the deep bronzed skin at her throat. No, not quite bronze, River decides. More like the mocha lattes in that little bistro in 26th Century Paris. The woman is quite stunning, in beauty as well as presence, and atop the fine featured face still calmly awaiting instruction sits the most beautiful mass of barely restrained ebony locks River's seen since that expedition to Maranos. River notes with another broadening grin that the other woman's eyes have settled firmly on her own golden ringlets- possibly recognizing a kindred spirit beneath the curls?
She drags her appraising gaze back to the man before her, clearing her throat before speaking. "Sorry sweetie. I was aiming for... something else. Not really my fault if your ship got in my way. But if you want me off, all you have to do is let me..." her fingers again reach for the buttons at her wrist, freezing again when a new shooter announces themselves behind her to the right. Her shoulders tense at the noise, and she does a complete quarter turn to look this time. A brawny man, wearing militaristic garments and a knit hat that completely defies explanation or description, is holding an impressively sized shoulder canon casually cradled in his arms.
"Ooo-kay. Clearly we all have questions about what's going on, but number one is this: what in the name of sanity do you have on your head?" His mouth drops open for a moment, before his eyes narrow and he sets the gun against his shoulder. "This... was a gift from my mother. And don't nobody badmouth Mama Cobb's best efforts!" An edict to settle down has just issued from the man in charge when River acknowledges her blunder with a slight inclination of her head and pipes up. "My apologies, Mr... Cobb, was it?" At his grudging nod, she appears to consider it again and nods before continuing. "You're right. It is quite... fetching. A man walks down the street with that on his head... well people know he's not afraid of anything." Mollified by her comment, Jayne shoulders the gun and asks the "Cap" what they're gonna do with her. The "Cap" seems to ponder this a moment, before holstering his pistols and responding, almost to himself. "What are we gonna do with her, indeed?"