New Dunsmuir was a gem of a city.
And by that, Mal meant a rock dug up from a lifeless pit of volcanic crust, painstakingly polished and cut and sold to the highest bidder for far more than its true worth. Sure, it was shiny. A shiny sea-town full of white, shiny houses and sleek, shiny citizens with fat shiny bank accounts. Any oceanside city that didn't smell like fish was automatically ersatz in his mind, like that chalky ration powder the border traders tried to pass off as chocolate.
Still, the prospect of a beach and a marriage license (and a crate of secondhand ship parts from one of Beaumonde's junk cities) had Kaylee so lathered up it was a wonder she didn't wriggle out of that tiny yellow kimono. Doc seemed unable to focus, choosing instead to follow his lady love into the sunlight, one hand on the small of her back. He blinked and perspired like a man who had been stuck in a cave for half his natural life. This irritated Mal, who knew for a fact the boy had had a perfectly good shore leave six months ago. There was no call for dramatics.
Jayne celebrated their arrival by shoving his feet into his boots and wandering off to spend his money on booze, meat, and whores. Mal explained to Jayne that they probably weren't called whores in New Dunsmuir. Jayne expressed his opinion on that by issuing a leisurely fart into the ocean breeze.
Zoe hadn't wanted to leave Serenity. Mal, suspecting that Zoe's true intentions were to lay around the cockpit communing with Wash's ghost, began methodically but firmly locking up every hidey hole in the ship, before inexorably shuffling Zoe and River out into the port. As River cheerfully pulled Zoe around to peek at the different open-air stalls nearby, he hung back, gingerly fingering the edges of the excellently faked ID holo Simon had provided him.
According to this square of plastic, he was Benjamin Wilde, 34, mineral retrieval, independent consult, and export. His ship, the Tethys (Mal snorted), was a salvage purchased from a former employer ten years ago and paid off for the last two. Simon had even included a random inspection, suspicion of illegal stims, in 2515. The Tethys and its crew had passed within normal limits, and its cargo, apart from one regrettable passenger's private storage, was clean. Benjamin Wilde's Alliance trade and transport permits were paid up for the next 24 months, and Benjamin Wilde was entitled to discounted docking fees at all Alliance spaceports. Ain't life fine and grand.
Mal stood stoically while the docking agent processed his information and totted up the charge. "Welcome back to New Dunsmuir, Mr. Wilde," the agent chirruped happily. "Will that go on a business account?"
"Chips," said Mal. The agent took the cash from his hand with a slightly raised eyebrow. "I never use credit anymore," Mal confided cozily. "The kinds of people you run into out there, they'll steal your passcode soon as look at ya."
"Oh-ho, gotcha," said the agent, winking cheerily. "Well, that's you done! Have a very pleasant visit."
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Leave it to Jayne to suss out the only bar in New Dunsmuir worthy of the name. Zoe could swear the man had some sort of homing instinct, one which drew him irresistibly towards cheap whisky and violence.
She'd spent an interesting, if not profitable, day with River and the Captain. It occurred to her that she wasn't generally in the habit of letting tiny white girls herd her, arm in arm, over unknown landscapes, but that was what had happened, with Malcolm Reynolds tailing behind sulkily like a mule with a toothache. River had effortlessly propelled the trio in and out of shops and establishments, charming the sophisticated natives with ease and picking a judicious amount of pockets along the way. Not enough to get caught, mind you. But enough to make a passel of purchases, most of which Zoe or Mal ended up wearing (or eating).
Zoe was sitting complacently now in the open air, letting a nimble-fingered stranger work her long black hair into tiny braids with silver beads, across the street from a comfortably divey bar whence Jayne had just vanished with a person he called his "lady friend." There was a rollicking sort of music playing out on the deck and it was making River twitch. The long, colorful scarves River had swathed over Zoe and herself danced sympathetically in the ocean breeze.
Her main comfort lay in the fact that River had talked Mal into the same treatment. He stared stonily at the cobblestones as one barber's assistant shaved his scratchy face and the other trimmed his scraggly hair. He was also, seemingly of his own volition, wearing some kind of short-sleeved, breezy shirt, with nary a suspender in sight. It was amazing, Zoe reflected, what threats of violence from a 90 lb woman could achieve.
"Ack!" Mal exclaimed, abruptly standing and brushing off bits of fuzz from his new finery. The poor creature who had been attempting to press a hand-mirror on him backed away slowly. Zoe eyed the scene with lazy amusement, lulled by the sensation of being beautified. Mal was looking around the street cagily, searching out an escape route. "They'll want payin'," she pointed out before he completely took to his heels.
He dug grumpily in his pockets, coming up with what seemed like way too much scratch for a cut and some beads. The stylist eyed his chips reproachfully, till River twirled forth out of nowhere, pressing a neat pile of tip money into the woman's beautifully manicured hands. Then River turned her attention to Mal. Her face was extremely serious. She was a woman with important matters to discuss.
"I want an oyster," River said, pointing emphatically to the bar. "And a dance."
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The bar was smoky and jazzy and entirely too clean. Mal hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. He had, he felt, been very patient. In fact he had been a perfect gentleman all day long. Doing everything the ladies wanted, saying nothing even when they started undressing him and shaving his whiskers, letting them poke and prod and spend all his money without so much as a single snarl or grimace. He had been, all in all, better than they deserved, and he hoped they knew that. He raised his eyes to his companions smugly.
River had her arms crossed, feet tapping. She mouthed something at him exaggeratedly.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll getcha damn oys-chure. I'll getcha a whole gorramn bucket of the things, so hold yer freaking horses," he muttered peevishly, moving forward. "Barkeep!" he snapped. "The ladies would like to try the local kwee-zine." He aimed a magnanimous sweep of his arm at the ladies in question.
"Huh?" said the barkeep.
"I want an oyster," piped River sweetly.
"Oh yeah, sure thing," said the barkeep. He reached under the bar into the ice, pulled out an enormous gray shell, and cracked it for her. She reached for it, then paused. She examined it minutely.
"This oyster," she said, her voice solemn, "is not dead." The barkeep gaped at her. "No," he said carefully. "It's a fresh one." River turned her eyes to Mal helplessly.
"Like this, honey," he said, shucking the thing out of its shell with the tip of his pocket knife. She stared at him in horror. "No?" he asked. Screw it. He slurped it down himself.
"You ate it!" River hissed, scandalized.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah I did," he rejoined, a ghoulish grin growing on his freshly shaven face.
"Gross!"
He rubbed his tummy, thoroughly enjoying her disgust. Zoe shook her head at them both. "Say," said Zoe, "I don't suppose you have any fried oysters laying around?" The barkeep nodded in obvious relief. "Well, how about you bring us some of those, and a pitcher of beer."
"You got it, ma'am."
The music on the deck apparently originated from a little band of players. Mal followed River's gaze to a young man with an electric violin. Her sandaled feet were tapping restlessly.
"Heard tell you could pick a tune, once upon a time," he said, close to her ear. She turned her head slightly. Her sigh, half longing and half resentment, washed over him. He pressed his fingertips lightly against her spine, a spark of comfort passing between them.
"I want to dance," she repeated, almost angrily. He opened his mouth, meaning to protest, but she cut him off. "I don't care," she snapped. "We'll do the ones you know. I know them too." He gave up, stepping back until he could stretch out his hand in offering.
"Alright," he said, palm up. She slid her slender hand into his, and he whirled her onto the floor.
