[Fic]L'Art Est Long Et Le Temps Est Court(Simon, River, Mal) R
Title: L'Art Est Long Et Le Temps Est Court
Author: duh_i_read
Rating: Hard R
Word count: 499
Warning: Darkfic-character death and violence, though most of it is offscreen.
Summery: Mal's luck runs out.
AN: Title taken from the poem "Le Guignon" (Bad Luck) by Baudelaire. Written for comment_fic .
"I always thought," Simon said, "the name Serenity had a vaguely funereal sound to it. How many times has this been close to a reality?"
"An average of six point five a month" River said, from her perch atop the kitchen table. "This time would have been number eight."
"Beyond cheating death, it's a taunt. A dangerous game of chicken that somehow you convinced your whole crew to play. Too bad eight isn't your lucky number, Mal."
Simon didn't need an empathic thought reader to know what Mal was thinking. it was clear on the tight lines of his face and the flush of his cheeks. Simon eased down on his haunches so they were eye to eye, "We saved them, Mal, from a much worse faith then this. Their death was inevitable, and this way, it's not completely your fault."
Mal screamed at him, straining against his bounds like an animal in a trap. Too bad he had tested all the pipes in the gally his first week, and Mal was tied to the sturdiest one.
"Only seventeen percent his fault," River said. Simon looked back to see her using a knife to draw symbols on the table in blood. Some of it dripped off the table in a steady sound, audible only in the silence of the ship.
"Of course, the rest of the crew might not agree with this. if they were in any position to complain."
"Kaylee's only pretending to be asleep, we could wake her with a kiss." River crawled over Zoe's still form, balancing on the edge of the table next to Zoe's head.
"It would take hours for the paralytic drugs to wear off. Not that it matters, because she is mine, River. You cannot play with her, dong ma?"
River stuck out her tongue at him.
"Go play with Jayne some more, if your done with Zoe."
River nudged the side of Zoe's head with the blunt end of the knife in her hand. "Forty-three percent loss of total blood volume resulted in cardiac arrest. Or a broken heart from having to watch us skin Wash."
"River-"
"What about the captain? Jayne is no fun and can't touch Kaylee."
"I'm saving him for last. We could finish him together."
River hopped off the table, leaving red footprints as she walked over.
"Peel him back like an onion until all layers are scattered around us?" River asked.
Simon nodded, smiling at Mal and touching the side of his face, smearing a little blood on his cheek. "You fascinate me, Mal Reynolds. Such a contradictory man, a man of goodness and immorality in equal measures. From the moment we met, I've wondered about you, wanted to know what makes you tick inside."
River came to knell next to Simon, tucking herself under one arm, the blood that coated her arms all the way to her shoulders rubbing off on Simon's vest.
Mal screamed behind his gag as River handed Simon the knife. "Finally, I get to find out."
Fin
If case you were wondering, the prompt was "Simon and River are actually psychotic serial killers; what happens when they stop "playing nice". Which, is kind of the best prompt ever.