Chapter 4: The Man They Call Jayne... Gets His Ass Kicked
Jayne- As they walk down the hallway, Jayne lets the curly haired mystery gets a pace or two ahead. He has temporarily shoved aside his fascination with that magnificent crown of hair she's got, and is unabashedly checking out her ass in those impressively tight pants. He's jerked out of his thoughts by her sudden about face and slams to a stop a few inches from crashing into her. "So, are we going any place particularly, or are you just going to let me wander all over this ship whilst you moon over my backside?" She crosses her arms while he stutters for an answer, the movement pushing up her already prominent chest and causing Jayne to swallow. Hard.
"Well, uh... See I reckoned you might appreciate the dime tour is all." The smile he manages to punctuate that flash of brilliance is a bit too tight and falters the longer she stares. "Course, if there was any place you were especially wantin' to see, I'd be more'n happy to squire you up there." He tries the smile again, but realizes it's probably slightly more feral than friendly. "Ma'am."
Those intense eyes- the same shade as those jade gewgaws of 'Nara's- narrow like a gunsight and Jayne feels tiny beads of sweat pop out along his brow. "Don't call me 'ma'am'; I work for a living! Now you have 10 seconds to decide if you'd like to show me something constructive or be a brutish boring thug somewhere away from my company, before I-" "Before you what... ma'am?" Jayne snarls in reply; he don't cotton to females treating him like a hired hand (even if almost every one on this ship does it) and he definitely ain't putting up with it from a sassy newcomer. Even if he does have the unshakable urge to kiss her senseless... or shoot her.
River leans in confidentially, her eyes still alight with emerald flame. "Before I kick your backwater arse so hard, any time you're lucky enough to have a thought, it's going to have to play hopscotch over my toes to get there!" They are about two inches apart by the time her comment roars to a close, and Jayne rears back, shaking his head against the ringing in his ears. Once it clears, he feels a genuine grin- the kind he usually only gets at the sight of a letter from home or a really big pile of platinum- stretching his features. He flings an arm out like a signpost ahead of them, gesturing her on with a jerk of his head. "Ma'am... I'd like to see you try."
He hadn't meant it to become a gorram spectator event, but somehow the entire crew (with the exception of their Companion, who's currently off on assignment) ends up in the cargo bay, placing bets and cheering as he and River prepare to spar. Jayne's expectation is that he'll probably pin, maim or kill her sometime inside of 15 minutes. The reality? Jayne spends the better part of an hour getting his ass handed to him in a variety of hitherto unseen ways.
She utilizes Judo, forms of Ju Jitsu, a Martian variant of Krav Maga, and a Venusian devotee of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's unique rework of bartitsu - the martial art of choice for Sherlock Holmes - to send Jayne over her shoulder, under her heel, across her knee, beneath her hip, and flying through the air to land on his back on the floor... over and over and over again. He finally gives in when she's had him pinned and squirming for nearly 5 minutes using only 2 fingers and the toe of one boot. She releases him and does a quick victory turn, soaking up the admiring cheers of the crew and turning down her "cut" of the winnings with a royal little wave.
Jayne picks himself (and whatever shards of dignity remain) off the floor, trying to reconcile his shameful defeat at the hands of a woman with the creeping arousal being in close proximity to her had unleashed. Shaking himself off and straightening his clothes, he invites her to his room for a drink. She accepts with the caveat- mentioned in such a stage whisper as to be audible to everyone in the area - that if he tries anything, she'll pull his spleen out through his nose.
When they arrive, he introduces her to Vera and the rest of his "girls" and she gamely shares her Alpha Meson blaster, which after a careful perusal, he ceremoniously dubs Vera's little sister before handing it back and offering her a drink. They crack open a bottle of Mudder's Milk, left over from their fateful trip to Canton. When she begins rattling off comparisons to the Ancient Egyptians and the liquid bread they fed the Hebrews, Jayne mutters "not again" under his breath and gives her rein of the bar.
She makes do with his supplies and a lemon she'd palmed from the kitchen, creating a passable version of a drink created in her honor in a 24th century Manhattan bar called a Sonic Screwdriver. (The joke had originally been that it was a Sonic Screwed River, but a few well placed electro-darts in the barkeep's knee precipitated a name change.) They toast to firepower and knock back the shooters. River smiles through her grimace, and a shake of her head sends her curls dancing. Jayne is pondering just how much he'd miss his spleen when his head tries to implode. Waiting for his eyes to stop rattling in his skull, he stares down at the empty glass, then at the woman who prepared it, who's watching him with a casual shrug. Eh. Better than a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster anyway.
River whips up one more drink, then leaves Jayne in a light coma - cuddling Vera and mumbling about bar tabs - to go see if any help is needed before dinner.
A/N: stay frosty, people. we still have Mal, Inara, and Kaylee to go. and the Doctor needs to come get her at some point, right?