Firefly: Precise in Promise-Keeping (3/4)
Rating: PG overall, with a little PG-13 language
Disclaimer: Firefly, you were too good for this world, but if I owned you, you better believe you'd still be on the air.
Word Count: 1,741
Summary: Post-BDM. Badger makes an unexpected demand that leads to an interesting day for River.
A/N: Odd little thing I finally got around to finishing. Please feel free to correct my Britspeak. Chapters posted every other day.
Chapter Two
“Now remember, Izzy, Bhima can’t know I’ve anything to do with this, right? He does an’ I’m deader than if Hatchet has his way.”
River rolled her eyes and batted Badger’s hands away from where they fussed with her clothes- some baggy, faded rags whose threads were held together by the wearer’s fervent hope alone. She had shivered to put them on, feeling a slave’s fear flash into her head. She thought about why she was doing this and the growing list of Serenity’s malfunctions fell on her like hard rain. Badger, for all of his flaws, was their best customer at the moment. Delivering him from a nasty death at Hatchet’s hands would ensure his good will for the forseeable future, which was saying something where River was concerned. So she’d do it- risk her life, play a dangerous game for a little while. Who knows? It might be fun, Isabel said. River could picture her winking. That was odd, and a little alarming. It seemed the mask was sinking in deeper the longer River wore it. She barely had to think anymore before one of Isabel’s responses came to her lips to answer Badger’s questions. She wished Simon was there. “‘S gettin’ late,” she said, “I should be off.”
Badger stepped back, “Yeah, yeah.” He frowned, eyes on the rug and hands on his hips.
“Just spit it out. You’ll feel better.”
“Thank you for this,” Badger said as his gaze jumped back up to meet hers, “And, ah, don’t get killed. Of all the blokes tryin’ to end me, I think Mal Reynolds’d do the best job.”
River nodded, “You’re right ‘bout that.” Riding on Isabel’s current, she reached up and took hold of Badger’s chin, “Don’t worry yourself to death while I’m gone. Be a shame to do all that work for nothing.”
She felt his smile in the muscles beneath her fingers, “We’ll both do our best, won’t we?” His voice was a low rasp that curled up in her stomach.
“Yeah,” River said with a crooked grin and let go, turning on her heel and leaving Badger’s office behind.
She had to focus now, trade one mask for another. She didn’t want to do it. River could guess why it was so easy to be Isabel- Isabel was sane, or at least whole. Steady in herself and her mind in a way River could only dream of, now. This new mask wouldn’t be nearly as comforting.
River’s gait slowed as she approached the small hotel Bhima and his gang had claimed for their own. Before entering, she walked a circuit around the building, making a note of each door. As she came around the front again, she shuffled trembling into the saloon on the ground floor, huge dark eyes darting from face to face. Most of the men lounging inside paid her no attention, just continued their card games and conversations. The servants, silently moving shapes of faded cloth with covered heads, didn’t glance away from their duties to register her presence. River teetered over to the bar that stretched across most of the righthand wall. “Excuse me, sir,” she mumbled to the bartender.
He frowned down at her, but spat out an irritable “What?”
“I-I’m looking for B-Bhima Pandava,” River quavered in response.
The bartender’s frown turned puzzled, “Why?”
River glanced around the room and took a deep, strengthening breath with which to say, “That is my business. I will share it with Bhima Pandava alone.”
The bartender chuckled as if she’d just performed a mildly amusing trick. “Oh really? Well, what if he doesn’t want to see you?”
A lump stuck in River’s throat and her vision swam with tears, “P-pl-please... let me s-see him.”
The bartender’s amusement vanished as he watched drops roll down the little girl’s face. “Fine, fine. I’ll see if he’s around. Uh, calm down. Do you- do you want something to drink?”
River folded onto one of the stools like a withered leaf. “Water, please,” she whispered, and scrubbed away the tears with the cuffs of her filthy sleeves.
The bartender rushed to fill a glass, saying, “Right, okay, just drink that up and I’ll be back in a minute.” He bustled off into the backroom of the saloon.
Some of Bhima’s men had taken notice of River now. She stuck her nose in the glass and nailed her gaze to the bar’s sticky surface while their suspicion licked at her like flames. Her hands itched to curl into fists, but she kept them relaxed. It wasn’t very long before Bhima himself entered the room, and River rushed to examine his mind before the curtain rose again.
“What is this?” the drops dealer asked the bartender, who was cringing at his side.
“I- I don’t know, sir, she wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“So that automatically means I must deal with her myself? What if every person who wandered in off the street did the same thing? Would I be forced to see to all of them? Am I not a busy man?”
“Grandfather,” River said, causing Bhima to turn away from skewering the bartender with questions and fix his sharp gaze on her.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Sahuri. I am the daughter of Ghatotkacha Pandava, who is...” she paused and looked away, “Who was the captain of the Vanija.”
Bhima blinked, “Was? What are you saying, child? Is one of my sons dead? How did this happen and why was I not told of it?”
River let memories, true memories, dribble into her mind. Terror, pain, insanity, despair. And rage, scorching hot and consuming. “Reavers.”
The word sent a ripple through the room, as it always did. Even Bhima himself couldn’t keep the fear completely from his eyes. “Gods above,” he said, “Reavers took the Vanija?”
River nodded miserably. “They are all dead. I- I was the only one left. I took the only shuttle. Fa-Father taught me to fly it. He said... he said if anything ever happened... if I had nowhere to go, that I was to come h-here.” She dissolved into tears, curling up on the stool until her forehead pressed against the bar. As her sobs echoed around the saloon, River snuck through Bhima’s memories. He had so many grandchildren, had witnessed so many of their births and never saw them again; it was simple enough to manufacture a voice naming a squirming newborn “Sahuri Pandava.” The memory’s associated feelings of affection and pride and protectiveness surged up in the drops dealer with very little coaxing, causing him to step close to River and place a hand on her shuddering shoulder.
“Be calm, little Sahuri,” he murmured, “You are safe now.” The residual traces of Isabel in River’s mind crowed at the irony in Bhima’s words. River herself twisted on the stool until she could throw her arms around Bhima’s neck and soak his shirt in tears. His arms went around her waist and he eased her onto her feet, guiding her back from where he had come. They passed by a man armed with a nearly Vera-sized gun, who stepped aside at Bhima’s nod, and entered the backroom.
“Sit,” Bhima said, and River collapsed into the proffered chair. Peering through a curtain of tangled hair, River noted that they’d arrived in a medium-sized room with doors at both ends along with the one she’d just come through. She sat at one end of a large table. At the other end, a man was counting stacks of platinum bills, making brief calculations on a piece of paper next to him. Brilliant, Isabel said with quiet glee. River concurred. “Stay here, child,” Bhima was saying, “Abhati will bring you some stew and you can calm yourself. There are people I must speak with, if we have indeed lost the Vanija.”
He was going to confirm her story on the Cortex, and find it to be false. That was fine. Ideal, even, for River’s purposes. She didn’t need Bhima to believe her forever, just long enough to leave her in a room filled with platinum. The drops dealer closed the door behind him, and then it was just her, the counting man, and the objective of her mission. River took a small glimpse of the man’s mind- he was an accountant, a simple numbers man keeping the books for a miniscule percentage, about as threatening as a paperclip. He barely noticed that she was there. All of this increased River’s guilt as she delivered a firm kick to his temple. He didn’t even cry out as he slumped out of his chair and to the floor.
There, love, hard part’s over, Isabel said as River set about collecting what she needed. First, she tore off the sleeves of her shirt and used them to cover her hair. Then she tore off the bottoms of her pants legs at the knee, ripping the seams and laying the rectangles of fabric on the table. A few quick knots among the loose threads combined the rectangles into one sheet. River filled this with stacks of platinum-denominated bills. She was just tying the sheet into a bundle around the money when the door at the far end of the room opened, admitting a sturdy-looking woman holding a steaming bowl of stew.
The woman’s dark eyes darted around the room, taking in the tableau of the scattered profits, the unconscious accountant, and River staring back at her holding a hefty sack. “What is- who are you...? You are a thief. Thief! Thief!” The woman’s cry was as piercing as any security alarm, echoing through the building and reaching Bhima, who certainly knew already.
River slipped past the woman and down a short hallway, eventually emerging in what turned out to be a large kitchen. Servants looked up at her. “What’s going on?” one asked.
River shrugged and adjusted the fabric on her head, “Don’t ask me, I’ve got laundry to do.” She hoisted the sack over her shoulder, and then scuttled through the kitchen. The servants moved out of her way.
Once outside, she blended into the evening’s pedestrian mob as Bhima’s men boiled out of the hotel. They wouldn’t find her. Their eyes just weren’t trained to notice a servant hustling by with a sack on her back. River’s head was starting to throb with Isabel’s laughter, Sahuri’s sobs, and the suffocating wash of minds around her.
Chapter Four
Disclaimer: Firefly, you were too good for this world, but if I owned you, you better believe you'd still be on the air.
Word Count: 1,741
Summary: Post-BDM. Badger makes an unexpected demand that leads to an interesting day for River.
A/N: Odd little thing I finally got around to finishing. Please feel free to correct my Britspeak. Chapters posted every other day.
Chapter Two
“Now remember, Izzy, Bhima can’t know I’ve anything to do with this, right? He does an’ I’m deader than if Hatchet has his way.”
River rolled her eyes and batted Badger’s hands away from where they fussed with her clothes- some baggy, faded rags whose threads were held together by the wearer’s fervent hope alone. She had shivered to put them on, feeling a slave’s fear flash into her head. She thought about why she was doing this and the growing list of Serenity’s malfunctions fell on her like hard rain. Badger, for all of his flaws, was their best customer at the moment. Delivering him from a nasty death at Hatchet’s hands would ensure his good will for the forseeable future, which was saying something where River was concerned. So she’d do it- risk her life, play a dangerous game for a little while. Who knows? It might be fun, Isabel said. River could picture her winking. That was odd, and a little alarming. It seemed the mask was sinking in deeper the longer River wore it. She barely had to think anymore before one of Isabel’s responses came to her lips to answer Badger’s questions. She wished Simon was there. “‘S gettin’ late,” she said, “I should be off.”
Badger stepped back, “Yeah, yeah.” He frowned, eyes on the rug and hands on his hips.
“Just spit it out. You’ll feel better.”
“Thank you for this,” Badger said as his gaze jumped back up to meet hers, “And, ah, don’t get killed. Of all the blokes tryin’ to end me, I think Mal Reynolds’d do the best job.”
River nodded, “You’re right ‘bout that.” Riding on Isabel’s current, she reached up and took hold of Badger’s chin, “Don’t worry yourself to death while I’m gone. Be a shame to do all that work for nothing.”
She felt his smile in the muscles beneath her fingers, “We’ll both do our best, won’t we?” His voice was a low rasp that curled up in her stomach.
“Yeah,” River said with a crooked grin and let go, turning on her heel and leaving Badger’s office behind.
She had to focus now, trade one mask for another. She didn’t want to do it. River could guess why it was so easy to be Isabel- Isabel was sane, or at least whole. Steady in herself and her mind in a way River could only dream of, now. This new mask wouldn’t be nearly as comforting.
River’s gait slowed as she approached the small hotel Bhima and his gang had claimed for their own. Before entering, she walked a circuit around the building, making a note of each door. As she came around the front again, she shuffled trembling into the saloon on the ground floor, huge dark eyes darting from face to face. Most of the men lounging inside paid her no attention, just continued their card games and conversations. The servants, silently moving shapes of faded cloth with covered heads, didn’t glance away from their duties to register her presence. River teetered over to the bar that stretched across most of the righthand wall. “Excuse me, sir,” she mumbled to the bartender.
He frowned down at her, but spat out an irritable “What?”
“I-I’m looking for B-Bhima Pandava,” River quavered in response.
The bartender’s frown turned puzzled, “Why?”
River glanced around the room and took a deep, strengthening breath with which to say, “That is my business. I will share it with Bhima Pandava alone.”
The bartender chuckled as if she’d just performed a mildly amusing trick. “Oh really? Well, what if he doesn’t want to see you?”
A lump stuck in River’s throat and her vision swam with tears, “P-pl-please... let me s-see him.”
The bartender’s amusement vanished as he watched drops roll down the little girl’s face. “Fine, fine. I’ll see if he’s around. Uh, calm down. Do you- do you want something to drink?”
River folded onto one of the stools like a withered leaf. “Water, please,” she whispered, and scrubbed away the tears with the cuffs of her filthy sleeves.
The bartender rushed to fill a glass, saying, “Right, okay, just drink that up and I’ll be back in a minute.” He bustled off into the backroom of the saloon.
Some of Bhima’s men had taken notice of River now. She stuck her nose in the glass and nailed her gaze to the bar’s sticky surface while their suspicion licked at her like flames. Her hands itched to curl into fists, but she kept them relaxed. It wasn’t very long before Bhima himself entered the room, and River rushed to examine his mind before the curtain rose again.
“What is this?” the drops dealer asked the bartender, who was cringing at his side.
“I- I don’t know, sir, she wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“So that automatically means I must deal with her myself? What if every person who wandered in off the street did the same thing? Would I be forced to see to all of them? Am I not a busy man?”
“Grandfather,” River said, causing Bhima to turn away from skewering the bartender with questions and fix his sharp gaze on her.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Sahuri. I am the daughter of Ghatotkacha Pandava, who is...” she paused and looked away, “Who was the captain of the Vanija.”
Bhima blinked, “Was? What are you saying, child? Is one of my sons dead? How did this happen and why was I not told of it?”
River let memories, true memories, dribble into her mind. Terror, pain, insanity, despair. And rage, scorching hot and consuming. “Reavers.”
The word sent a ripple through the room, as it always did. Even Bhima himself couldn’t keep the fear completely from his eyes. “Gods above,” he said, “Reavers took the Vanija?”
River nodded miserably. “They are all dead. I- I was the only one left. I took the only shuttle. Fa-Father taught me to fly it. He said... he said if anything ever happened... if I had nowhere to go, that I was to come h-here.” She dissolved into tears, curling up on the stool until her forehead pressed against the bar. As her sobs echoed around the saloon, River snuck through Bhima’s memories. He had so many grandchildren, had witnessed so many of their births and never saw them again; it was simple enough to manufacture a voice naming a squirming newborn “Sahuri Pandava.” The memory’s associated feelings of affection and pride and protectiveness surged up in the drops dealer with very little coaxing, causing him to step close to River and place a hand on her shuddering shoulder.
“Be calm, little Sahuri,” he murmured, “You are safe now.” The residual traces of Isabel in River’s mind crowed at the irony in Bhima’s words. River herself twisted on the stool until she could throw her arms around Bhima’s neck and soak his shirt in tears. His arms went around her waist and he eased her onto her feet, guiding her back from where he had come. They passed by a man armed with a nearly Vera-sized gun, who stepped aside at Bhima’s nod, and entered the backroom.
“Sit,” Bhima said, and River collapsed into the proffered chair. Peering through a curtain of tangled hair, River noted that they’d arrived in a medium-sized room with doors at both ends along with the one she’d just come through. She sat at one end of a large table. At the other end, a man was counting stacks of platinum bills, making brief calculations on a piece of paper next to him. Brilliant, Isabel said with quiet glee. River concurred. “Stay here, child,” Bhima was saying, “Abhati will bring you some stew and you can calm yourself. There are people I must speak with, if we have indeed lost the Vanija.”
He was going to confirm her story on the Cortex, and find it to be false. That was fine. Ideal, even, for River’s purposes. She didn’t need Bhima to believe her forever, just long enough to leave her in a room filled with platinum. The drops dealer closed the door behind him, and then it was just her, the counting man, and the objective of her mission. River took a small glimpse of the man’s mind- he was an accountant, a simple numbers man keeping the books for a miniscule percentage, about as threatening as a paperclip. He barely noticed that she was there. All of this increased River’s guilt as she delivered a firm kick to his temple. He didn’t even cry out as he slumped out of his chair and to the floor.
There, love, hard part’s over, Isabel said as River set about collecting what she needed. First, she tore off the sleeves of her shirt and used them to cover her hair. Then she tore off the bottoms of her pants legs at the knee, ripping the seams and laying the rectangles of fabric on the table. A few quick knots among the loose threads combined the rectangles into one sheet. River filled this with stacks of platinum-denominated bills. She was just tying the sheet into a bundle around the money when the door at the far end of the room opened, admitting a sturdy-looking woman holding a steaming bowl of stew.
The woman’s dark eyes darted around the room, taking in the tableau of the scattered profits, the unconscious accountant, and River staring back at her holding a hefty sack. “What is- who are you...? You are a thief. Thief! Thief!” The woman’s cry was as piercing as any security alarm, echoing through the building and reaching Bhima, who certainly knew already.
River slipped past the woman and down a short hallway, eventually emerging in what turned out to be a large kitchen. Servants looked up at her. “What’s going on?” one asked.
River shrugged and adjusted the fabric on her head, “Don’t ask me, I’ve got laundry to do.” She hoisted the sack over her shoulder, and then scuttled through the kitchen. The servants moved out of her way.
Once outside, she blended into the evening’s pedestrian mob as Bhima’s men boiled out of the hotel. They wouldn’t find her. Their eyes just weren’t trained to notice a servant hustling by with a sack on her back. River’s head was starting to throb with Isabel’s laughter, Sahuri’s sobs, and the suffocating wash of minds around her.
Chapter Four