Disclaimer: Not my property, not for profit. No disrespect intended to anybody real (actors/creators).
"She's good. Reminds me of ma Momma Cobb."
Surprised, Simon's eyes turned on the man beside him. Jayne Cobb almost never mentioned his family, so this rare, off-handed comment had him physically turning in his seat to study the larger man next to him with a critical eye.
Jayne's eyes were fixated across the bar where a small wooden platform had been erected to serve as a stage. On it a reed-thin girl of no more than twenty was belting out soulful love songs with the accompaniment of a greasy looking pianist who'd opted to skip wearing a shirt, but somehow though to keep the tie, probably thinking it left him looking more dignified.
Not wanting to let the golden opportunity to gain insight into the human-puzzle that was Jayne pass by without doing a little digging, Simon causally asked, "She was a good singer, your mother?"
Jayne snorted, his eyes barely flickered in Simon's direction before they were back, trained solely on thin red-headed wisp of a girl singing her heart out on stage.
"Lemme put it to ya this way Doc: Ma Cobb's got one 'em 'unique voices'."
"Like this girl's? She's good then?" Simon persisted, not quite understanding what Jayne was getting at. Was the girl's singing voice like his mother's or not? Who was this 'Momma Cobb?' Sometimes Simon found it incredibly difficult to believe the rough-talking, foul-mouthed mercenary had even had a mother, let alone one that sang. It was almost impossible for Simon to even envision Jayne having had a childhood; he much preferred to think of Jayne having come into the world as a swearing, overly muscled piece of man-meat that had Vera already trained on his first target.
Jayne turned giving him a slightly longer glance this time. "Ya know what a desert mouse is?"
The unrelated question had Simon's forehead crinkling in confusion, his own eye's following the mercenary's towards the stage. "Yes..."
"Well, that's what Ma Cobb sounds like. Ya know, kinda like when one of those little mice get caught up in a tumble weed and they shriek and shriek as they roll along till their heart explodes, or some kid with a gun shoots 'em. So if you consider that good..."
"Well... no, not really."
Jayne grunted in what Simon took as agreement, his attention already locked back onto the singer.
"So why does she remind you of your mother then?"
"They're both deficient in stature." The bigger man gave Simon an annoyed look that suggested this was a fairly obvious conclusion that shouldn't have needed to be explained.
Dumbfounded, Simon sat back wondering for the millionth time why he even bothered. He was never going to understand Jayne Cobb.
