On the one hand, she has Sascha--such a prig when she met him--exactly where she wants him. Under her expert administration, he and his friends turned bandit, set up camp outside the settlement and are slowly but surely taking the tree-huggers that live there for everything they're worth.
On the other hand, she's been stuck on this hunk of rock for more than two months now. Triumph (ha!) is a backwater on the arse end of the 'verse, and any attraction it had is long gone. The same with Sascha. She's bored. And she hates to be bored. Besides, traffic to Triumph being what it is, this Firefly just might be her only ticket off. So while Sascha and the boys are off playing Cowboys and Reavers, she dolls herself up--such as it is; she'd kill for even a silk scarf at this point--and strolls on into town.
Triumph is a backwater, but it's big enough that an unknown face goes unremarked, especially after a couple months of comings and goings. She's always careful, and she's always smart; not the first time her aborted Companion training comes up useful. Put on the right clothes, inside and out, the House Priestess always declared, and you can be anyone.
Damn, but she'd been a bore.
Still, the words hold true, all across the 'verse.
Elder Gommen--pompous busybody that ihe/i is, has already set up shop outside the Firefly, damn near bouncing on his toes as he waits for the ramp to finish coming down. First one out is rangy and medium-sized in a down-at-the-heels brown coat that's been patched with engine tape on the left arm. He doesn't look like much, but his body language, and that of the muscle--two of them--coming off behind him, says that he's The One.
He's got a smile on, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Gommen won't notice; even if he weren't a sheep, Gommen's far too vain to wear his specs in public.
"Welcome to the world!" Gommen says. He flings out his hands like they're the next coming of Buddha, and she sees the muscle--dark, unsmiling woman and tall head-buster--put fingers to leather, though they don't draw down. They're just muscle, though; a little smarter, a little more cautious than some, but easily handled. It's the browncoat she's going to have to be careful with. She gets him, she'll get them all. And Firefly class may not be shiny as some, but it's solid. A Firefly will keep going until you junk it, and while not pretty, this one looks like someone's been taking care of her.
Running a finger over her lips, she thinks maybe it's time she get herself a new husband.