3 drabbles (PG, no spoilers for Serenity)
Dec. 10th, 2005 01:30 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
the-grynne.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
firefly_fanfic“Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives.”
He puts on the clothes of mourning, shirt sand and iron-red of slipshod burials; there’s honesty in that, he’ll not hide behind the camouflage of a living man. The cold, the bullets, the hunger didn’t kill him, but you can’t eat sleep piss in death without it digging in root.
The crew, except maybe for Zoë, they won’t know all that he’s been holding inside. Soldiers, idiot officers and gawky wide-eyed kids walking with his two legs; and he carries it, he’s a lucky sonofagun he knows that much.
With one foot on his ship, the other straddling the width of the valley of tombs, the weight of the dead is curiously light.
20 November 2005
~~~
“I wanna fire the gun – show me.” -- Catherine Wheel, "Kill Rhythm"
He’s been thinking back and forth on the notion for days, the pain in his leg giving him no rest, till he finally decides to approach River.
“Tired of being helpless, ineffective, weak,” she says before he gets a word out. “Think talking is insufficient. Want to learn to fire a gun.”
“As a precaution. I’ve no intention of turning bandit. River, we all have to fit in.”
She looks him straight, somehow saddened, and he’s not feeling the surprise that he knows is proper instinctive reaction, but then learning River was always what came naturally to him.
“You can’t. It’s not allowed. I’ll be weapon for both of us.”
20 November 2005
~~~
"And like a thunderbolt he falls." -- Alfred Lord Tennyson
Simon: There were no feds. Until I started singing. -- "Objects in Space"
Simon has never been this side of drunk that he can remember. Getting acquainted with the preliminaries rather than somebody else's after effects. Tian'a, what a joke if he lands in the ER for this night of debauchery.
At least it isn’t Pierre who’s on duty tonight.
“Well, our daring Doctor Tam. Do you accept the challenge or no?”
Pierre “The Gun” Dong slams his glass down with wobbly emphasis. Mahalia (Now why couldn’t she be on duty? Oh yeah. Same reason that Simon isn’t.) slaps him two-handed on the back with what she probably thinks is stirring encouragement. Ough. What looks like two heads of shiny hair – both Mahalia's – sway in hypnotising syncopation.
Simon, who theorises that his frustrated liver has just now drained all the blood from his brain, blinks a couple of times, says: “You want me to climb up there and sing what song?”
9 December 2005
He puts on the clothes of mourning, shirt sand and iron-red of slipshod burials; there’s honesty in that, he’ll not hide behind the camouflage of a living man. The cold, the bullets, the hunger didn’t kill him, but you can’t eat sleep piss in death without it digging in root.
The crew, except maybe for Zoë, they won’t know all that he’s been holding inside. Soldiers, idiot officers and gawky wide-eyed kids walking with his two legs; and he carries it, he’s a lucky sonofagun he knows that much.
With one foot on his ship, the other straddling the width of the valley of tombs, the weight of the dead is curiously light.
20 November 2005
~~~
“I wanna fire the gun – show me.” -- Catherine Wheel, "Kill Rhythm"
He’s been thinking back and forth on the notion for days, the pain in his leg giving him no rest, till he finally decides to approach River.
“Tired of being helpless, ineffective, weak,” she says before he gets a word out. “Think talking is insufficient. Want to learn to fire a gun.”
“As a precaution. I’ve no intention of turning bandit. River, we all have to fit in.”
She looks him straight, somehow saddened, and he’s not feeling the surprise that he knows is proper instinctive reaction, but then learning River was always what came naturally to him.
“You can’t. It’s not allowed. I’ll be weapon for both of us.”
20 November 2005
~~~
"And like a thunderbolt he falls." -- Alfred Lord Tennyson
Simon: There were no feds. Until I started singing. -- "Objects in Space"
Simon has never been this side of drunk that he can remember. Getting acquainted with the preliminaries rather than somebody else's after effects. Tian'a, what a joke if he lands in the ER for this night of debauchery.
At least it isn’t Pierre who’s on duty tonight.
“Well, our daring Doctor Tam. Do you accept the challenge or no?”
Pierre “The Gun” Dong slams his glass down with wobbly emphasis. Mahalia (Now why couldn’t she be on duty? Oh yeah. Same reason that Simon isn’t.) slaps him two-handed on the back with what she probably thinks is stirring encouragement. Ough. What looks like two heads of shiny hair – both Mahalia's – sway in hypnotising syncopation.
Simon, who theorises that his frustrated liver has just now drained all the blood from his brain, blinks a couple of times, says: “You want me to climb up there and sing what song?”
9 December 2005
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-09 08:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-14 07:53 pm (UTC)Mmm. Interesting.
“You can’t. It’s not allowed. I’ll be weapon for both of us.”
So perfectly River.