I got bored, so here's another chapter; am starting to think I need help.

Thanks to all who reviewed last chapter

We're in port. Thank Iesu.

Bloody River's been trying to crawl around inside my head with all the subtlety of a union picket. I knew she knew something was up when her parents were around; which sounds infinitely better than: she knew something was up one of her parents while they were around.

I know I need a break when I think I need to start censoring my mind in my own diary; then again, on previous ships I've worked, it was a fair bet that the majority of the crew couldn't read and those that could needed illustrations to provide some measure of direction.

Probably just as well that literacy isn't a prerequisite in the mercenary profession or we'd all be standing around waiting to get shot by some idiot who was struggling his [or her] way through a set of instructions be it ever so simple as 'point and shoot'; although I was reading a book about computer systems of the past and, apparently, something called 'point and click' didn't work, as advertised, either.

So, River's been trying to crawl around inside my head necessitating an escape, if only for a while. Just as well because, as I was debarking, Inara had a bunch of visitors from the local whore superiority centre. Bloody Companions, they might be trained to within an inch of their lives but they still walk, talk and fuck like a remote-controlled mule. For all the artistry in the world and accompanying idiot-arse tea ceremonies they're still all about Tab A into Slot B; faking it is faking it, even when you're not.

Anyway, I have better things to do than pretend my IQ is 100 points lower than it actually is just to fulfil their need to wallow in their ostensible cultural superiority, as I said, faking it is still faking it and faking it isn't just about sex.

So, on making good my escape I headed for the local bookstore. I have to do something while we're floating around in the black waiting for bloody Mal to make up his alleged mind on whom we're going to piss off next. Just for once, I'd like to see him make a choice of work based on a rational business decision and not determined by how much it will piss off the Alliance ... or get Inara all hot ... or fulfil his 'big damn hero' itch... or not leave the rest of us standing round like tailor shop dummies while he delivers a soliloquy on his latest moral imperative for being who he is and doing what he does.

Fuck me; I'd work for the bloody reavers if they gave me a signed contract that stated that they weren't going to deliver a damn speech before every mission.

Got to the store and headed for the hideously overpriced 'real book' section, that is, books made with paper and not a bunch of mildly inconvenienced electrons – there's something about a real book, made with paper, with pages that you can turn, that is infinitely appealing, for a start they make a distinctly satisfying thud when thrown at the person who's been tailing you with all the finesse of an epileptic traffic jam.