Going Pear-Shaped
Firefly a piece of something
River and Jayne (pre-Rayne)
He was ignoring her again. River didn't mind; the tall, angry man was of minimal interest to her as an actual person. Many of his interests were vaguely disgusting to her, and after Ariel he seemed to lose his merit as a teammate, as well.
So they were generally happy to avoid each other. But after she had another nightmare or a particularly bad episode, he would ignore her so conspicuously that he inadvertently drew her notice.
He was filled with guilt. It was hard to detect, hard to pick out because normally he didn't let himself dwell. And even when faced with any sort of reminder of his betrayal, he wouldn't let himself call it guilt. He didn't enjoy analyzing his feelings, so he never bothered to try. He was a simple man - but how much of that was by nature or by inclination, River was never quite sure.
She had woken the ship with her screams that morning. Simon was in a worried, dizzying hurricane - moving about like he couldn't stay on the ground. His worry made her sick.
The concern and apprehension from the other crewmates made her head ache, but the pointed, consuming guilt of Jayne pulsed behind her eyes like some sort of bright, nauseating beacon.
She gravitated towards him, the overwhelming clarity of him unthinking guilt giving her welcome, welcome respite. He didn't have any settled, conscious thought; he only felt, and it hurt him barely, like tiny pinpricks through his thick, brown skin. He kept his mind clear, using physical exertion as a way to ease his tiny, flickering conscience.
He heard her approach h im - sensed it with that tightly-honed skill that was so easy to overlook. His body stiffened and he fought the strong impulse he had to run.
"I was a bird once," she told him. "But they clipped my wings, pulled out my feathers and gave me gills. Can't handle being one of the osteichthyes."
Jayne didn't really understand; but then he had also tried not to listen. "Go be crazy somewhere else," he told her, his attitude remarkably casual for one so full of emotional bile.
Her thoughts were falling into place - not into sinkholes, into pits and blackholes where she could not follow. They were aligned, falling into like-shaped slots, clearing out the uncontrolled clutter of her battered brain. The sickly green guilt of Jayne was the cause - so clear and bright that she could shuffle away all her own bits as she felt it; he drove away everything but Jayne and the tiny spark that was left of the River-girl entity.
Seeing that she had no intention of obeying, he snorted and stood up. "Right. Well since ya wanna bother someone so gorram much, I'ma go find yer prissy brother for ya and you can bother him."
"Pyrus communis," she said suddenly. He glared, and before he could snap, she clarified. "A pear."
He let out a long-suffering sigh. "What the hell you talkin' 'bout, Crazy?"
She was vaguely proud of herself for saying what she meant. The pale green of Jayne's guilt reminded her of the skin of a pear. "Fruit. Billowing out as it clings to the arms of its parent." She paused. "Used for food."
"I know what a pear is, you ruttin' crazy girl." He seemed either impressed with her for saying something with some measure of clarity or pleased that she had used words he understood. River would have been willing to bet Simon that it was the latter.
She grinned impishly. "Tiny words for tiny brains."
That he understood perfectly. He frowned, eyes narrowed, his face already mustering up a glare. The pale, creamy confusion dispersed and spikes of anger pierced the thinning cloud of guilt. "Ain't no part of my tiny," he said, wondering why he hadn't just bolted the moment he'd noticed her.
Anyone else might have noted the latent innuendo of his statment, but River had enough trouble recognizing she was a singular person without also having to bother with more than a basic sexual awareness. She merely shrugged and said, "Larger casing merely takes up more room unnecessarily."
"Ya dumb moonbrain - I ain't no ruttin' waste of space. We could prob'ly fit another man on the boat if'n we needed it."
"Waste of space! The next shipment may have unexpected spatial proportions. Will create an ocean of wobbly-headed dolls. Jayne will be fatal flaw - were he gone, crew might have survived."
"What? Gorram it, girl, yer talkin' less sense than usual. I ain't ever gonna be drowned in no wobbly-headed dolls."
She twirled around, ignoring him.
"Ruttin' moonbrain," he groused. "Wobbly-headed dolls... Drowning..."
"Do not worry, Jayne," she told him calmly. "Vera will be in good hands when you die."
***
written 8 July 2008
-ILB
***
River and Jayne (pre-Rayne)
He was ignoring her again. River didn't mind; the tall, angry man was of minimal interest to her as an actual person. Many of his interests were vaguely disgusting to her, and after Ariel he seemed to lose his merit as a teammate, as well.
So they were generally happy to avoid each other. But after she had another nightmare or a particularly bad episode, he would ignore her so conspicuously that he inadvertently drew her notice.
He was filled with guilt. It was hard to detect, hard to pick out because normally he didn't let himself dwell. And even when faced with any sort of reminder of his betrayal, he wouldn't let himself call it guilt. He didn't enjoy analyzing his feelings, so he never bothered to try. He was a simple man - but how much of that was by nature or by inclination, River was never quite sure.
She had woken the ship with her screams that morning. Simon was in a worried, dizzying hurricane - moving about like he couldn't stay on the ground. His worry made her sick.
The concern and apprehension from the other crewmates made her head ache, but the pointed, consuming guilt of Jayne pulsed behind her eyes like some sort of bright, nauseating beacon.
She gravitated towards him, the overwhelming clarity of him unthinking guilt giving her welcome, welcome respite. He didn't have any settled, conscious thought; he only felt, and it hurt him barely, like tiny pinpricks through his thick, brown skin. He kept his mind clear, using physical exertion as a way to ease his tiny, flickering conscience.
He heard her approach h im - sensed it with that tightly-honed skill that was so easy to overlook. His body stiffened and he fought the strong impulse he had to run.
"I was a bird once," she told him. "But they clipped my wings, pulled out my feathers and gave me gills. Can't handle being one of the osteichthyes."
Jayne didn't really understand; but then he had also tried not to listen. "Go be crazy somewhere else," he told her, his attitude remarkably casual for one so full of emotional bile.
Her thoughts were falling into place - not into sinkholes, into pits and blackholes where she could not follow. They were aligned, falling into like-shaped slots, clearing out the uncontrolled clutter of her battered brain. The sickly green guilt of Jayne was the cause - so clear and bright that she could shuffle away all her own bits as she felt it; he drove away everything but Jayne and the tiny spark that was left of the River-girl entity.
Seeing that she had no intention of obeying, he snorted and stood up. "Right. Well since ya wanna bother someone so gorram much, I'ma go find yer prissy brother for ya and you can bother him."
"Pyrus communis," she said suddenly. He glared, and before he could snap, she clarified. "A pear."
He let out a long-suffering sigh. "What the hell you talkin' 'bout, Crazy?"
She was vaguely proud of herself for saying what she meant. The pale green of Jayne's guilt reminded her of the skin of a pear. "Fruit. Billowing out as it clings to the arms of its parent." She paused. "Used for food."
"I know what a pear is, you ruttin' crazy girl." He seemed either impressed with her for saying something with some measure of clarity or pleased that she had used words he understood. River would have been willing to bet Simon that it was the latter.
She grinned impishly. "Tiny words for tiny brains."
That he understood perfectly. He frowned, eyes narrowed, his face already mustering up a glare. The pale, creamy confusion dispersed and spikes of anger pierced the thinning cloud of guilt. "Ain't no part of my tiny," he said, wondering why he hadn't just bolted the moment he'd noticed her.
Anyone else might have noted the latent innuendo of his statment, but River had enough trouble recognizing she was a singular person without also having to bother with more than a basic sexual awareness. She merely shrugged and said, "Larger casing merely takes up more room unnecessarily."
"Ya dumb moonbrain - I ain't no ruttin' waste of space. We could prob'ly fit another man on the boat if'n we needed it."
"Waste of space! The next shipment may have unexpected spatial proportions. Will create an ocean of wobbly-headed dolls. Jayne will be fatal flaw - were he gone, crew might have survived."
"What? Gorram it, girl, yer talkin' less sense than usual. I ain't ever gonna be drowned in no wobbly-headed dolls."
She twirled around, ignoring him.
"Ruttin' moonbrain," he groused. "Wobbly-headed dolls... Drowning..."
"Do not worry, Jayne," she told him calmly. "Vera will be in good hands when you die."
***
written 8 July 2008
-ILB
***