ficlet: Firefly; Saffron
Title: The Game
Fandom: Firefly. Saffron.
Word count: 392
Notes: Written for the whedonland challenge "newbie's first impression," which I won, which pleases me!
She could evaluate a mark in under ten seconds, been able to since she was the merest slip of a thing. Always knew her way around getting what she wanted, even more so when her lean frame grew curvy and her hair started curling; hardly a thing in the ‘verse she couldn’t get a man to do for her. Manipulation became her thrill, her art; she could spin a lie as easy as spitting, and ride the red red tip of her tongue over her lips with a practiced precision that would’ve aroused the jealousy of the finest stealth pilot in the Alliance.
She lasted three months in the academy before her Madam dismissed her. The protocol, the unshakeable rules of conduct, those she could handle; it was the society that made her snarl, the sisterhood. She got out with a wealth of skills and the freedom to do what she would, and from that day she never met a one she couldn’t double-cross.
That is, not ‘til that deathtrap of a Firefly with its crew of damnably unfathomable pirates.
He should’ve been a piece of cake. She knew his type, sized him up the minute she saw him. Stubborn and righteous to a fault, probably celibate for months. Simple.
And he probably would’ve been, long as she’d got him on his own. It was that damn crew of his. The sickeningly faithful pilot; the holy man. A girl who wasn’t all there, from what she gathered, who had all the rest of ‘em flurried all the time, cautious. Self-righteous warrior woman; and a companion, even - oho, there was something peculiar between her mark and that one, no doubt. All these folk around, swaying and influencing the Captain’s mind - well, in the spirit of complete honesty, she’s got to admit: she never encountered a troupe like this, never bargained for a team. She’d got around crowds of twenty or more, ticked ‘em off one by one and spun their heads ‘round before they could see what was happening.
This crowd was different. They had something unusual, a thing that curled her lip and wrinkled her nose with its stench. A thing like that had no place in a ‘verse like this, and yet, there was no denying, it was a thing that foiled her: loyalty, she thought with a sneer. Goddamn loyalty.
Fandom: Firefly. Saffron.
Word count: 392
Notes: Written for the whedonland challenge "newbie's first impression," which I won, which pleases me!
She could evaluate a mark in under ten seconds, been able to since she was the merest slip of a thing. Always knew her way around getting what she wanted, even more so when her lean frame grew curvy and her hair started curling; hardly a thing in the ‘verse she couldn’t get a man to do for her. Manipulation became her thrill, her art; she could spin a lie as easy as spitting, and ride the red red tip of her tongue over her lips with a practiced precision that would’ve aroused the jealousy of the finest stealth pilot in the Alliance.
She lasted three months in the academy before her Madam dismissed her. The protocol, the unshakeable rules of conduct, those she could handle; it was the society that made her snarl, the sisterhood. She got out with a wealth of skills and the freedom to do what she would, and from that day she never met a one she couldn’t double-cross.
That is, not ‘til that deathtrap of a Firefly with its crew of damnably unfathomable pirates.
He should’ve been a piece of cake. She knew his type, sized him up the minute she saw him. Stubborn and righteous to a fault, probably celibate for months. Simple.
And he probably would’ve been, long as she’d got him on his own. It was that damn crew of his. The sickeningly faithful pilot; the holy man. A girl who wasn’t all there, from what she gathered, who had all the rest of ‘em flurried all the time, cautious. Self-righteous warrior woman; and a companion, even - oho, there was something peculiar between her mark and that one, no doubt. All these folk around, swaying and influencing the Captain’s mind - well, in the spirit of complete honesty, she’s got to admit: she never encountered a troupe like this, never bargained for a team. She’d got around crowds of twenty or more, ticked ‘em off one by one and spun their heads ‘round before they could see what was happening.
This crowd was different. They had something unusual, a thing that curled her lip and wrinkled her nose with its stench. A thing like that had no place in a ‘verse like this, and yet, there was no denying, it was a thing that foiled her: loyalty, she thought with a sneer. Goddamn loyalty.