middle-and-fire-fic
Title: A Wrinkle in Spacetime
Fandom(s): The Middleman/Firefy
Pairing: gen, WW & MM
Rating: G
Word Count: 380
Written for: giftgiving @ scifiland, for wildpages
“Boss, are we on a spaceship?”
“I certainly don’t feel weightless. Why do you ask, Dubby?”
“Because I can see a small planet rapidly growing even tinier through that porthole right there.”
“By the tail of Hale-Bopp, Wendy! That’s not even Earth!”
“…I know. It’s orange.”
“Well, not precisely orange. Though it does appear to be a chiefly desert habitat.”
“I told you not to let Ida enter the coordinates into the Topological Spacetime Bridge Constructor. She totally still has it in for me.”
“Let’s not go throwing blame around. It tends to splatter upon impact, leaving everyone a grubby mess. Let’s just assume there’s been a slight wrinkle in our plan…. Get it? A wrinkle?”
“Very funny, Madeleine L’Engle. Can we please just go home now?”
“You can be quite the fuddy-duddy for a woman your age, Wendy. All right, fine, don’t roll your eyes at me, I’ll contact Ida on the middlewatch.”
“I’m standing right here. I don’t need the play-by-play.”
“Ida, we appear to be in a mild predicament here. …Ida, do you read me? Ida?”
“Fan-bleeping-tastic.”
“Dubby, we appear to be in the midst of a Code 53.”
“There’s a code for being a stowaway on an unknown ship in an unknown location in an unknown time period?”
“… There’s a code for being unable to make contact with headquarters.”
“Right, of course. That’s exactly what I meant.”
“I have to admit, Dubby, there’s one question that’s impressing itself upon my mind rather urgently.”
“Is it ‘What is Soylent Green made out of?’”
“No.”
“Darn. Hold on, I’m sure I was close, is it--”
“We are in a dirigible vessel. Therefore, someone has to be here in order for it to be diriged.”
“Can’t you just say, ‘Who’s flying this thing?””
“Ahem.”
“Gesundheit.”
“I didn’t cough, Boss.”
“Me and God ain’t exactly square. So your blessing won’t do much good. Appreciate the thought, though.”
“Boss. He’s a cowboy. In space.”
“Boss, huh? I don’t suppose you’d have a nice, neat little explanation in regard to what you and your employee are doing on my boat?”
“I apologize for the intrusion, but I’m afraid I am unable to provide that information, Mr…?”
“Reynolds.”
“他妈的!”
“Did you just swear in Chinese?”
“Mandarin, Dubby. You’ll need to brush up.”
Title: Triptych 01
Fandom(s): Firefy
Pairing: gen
Rating: G
Word Count: 350
Written for: whedonland speaking in tongues challenge (at least 10 words in a language besides English)
River is dizzy, disoriented. In the infirmary, again. The cool, incessant blue light fails to calm her. When the pirates board Serenity, she forgets to stay hidden, nestled deep within the walls like Simon taught her. She drifts through the hallways of the vessel, her bare feet rasping gently against the metal grate of the floor. The brigands find her. Seize her. Take her.
- - - - -
They don’t get away clean, though. Mal sees to that. The slow one takes a shot to the shoulder, and his crew don’t even try to wait for him. May be it’s on account of his stellar personality. “Chin wo de pigu,” he says, even as Mal is putting pressure on the wound and calling for Simon. Yet by the time Simon is finished patching him up, they’ve obtained a location from him. It sets a queer feeling in motion at the base of Mal’s spine; he’s seen the doc covered in blood times aplenty, but he’s never seen him look quite this way before. Mal gives the new heading to Wash.
- - - - -
Since River had been reacquired from her kidnappers, Jayne has been acting out of sorts. A wash of noise follows in his wake: thumping, stomping, clanging. Book finally corners him in the kitchen.
"L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle,” Book says.
Jayne squints at him. “Aw, preacher, don’t tell me you’ve gone all addle-pated now, too.”
“Italian.” Book smiles. “‘Love which moves the sun and the other stars.’ One man’s attempt to describe the power of God’s love for all mankind.”
Jayne grunts in response, stirring his mug of… whatever foul-smelling concoction he’s drinking.
“But I believe it can be appropriately used to describe almost any kind of love,” Book continues. “The kind that one sibling may feel for another, for example.”
Jayne pauses with the cup halfway to his mouth, staring stonily at Book.
“What is it about devotion that you find so frightening?” Book casually asks.
Jayne slams down the mug with a loud thunk, and clomps out of the room.
Book picks it up, dumps out the noxious dregs it contained.
Fandom(s): The Middleman/Firefy
Pairing: gen, WW & MM
Rating: G
Word Count: 380
Written for: giftgiving @ scifiland, for wildpages
“Boss, are we on a spaceship?”
“I certainly don’t feel weightless. Why do you ask, Dubby?”
“Because I can see a small planet rapidly growing even tinier through that porthole right there.”
“By the tail of Hale-Bopp, Wendy! That’s not even Earth!”
“…I know. It’s orange.”
“Well, not precisely orange. Though it does appear to be a chiefly desert habitat.”
“I told you not to let Ida enter the coordinates into the Topological Spacetime Bridge Constructor. She totally still has it in for me.”
“Let’s not go throwing blame around. It tends to splatter upon impact, leaving everyone a grubby mess. Let’s just assume there’s been a slight wrinkle in our plan…. Get it? A wrinkle?”
“Very funny, Madeleine L’Engle. Can we please just go home now?”
“You can be quite the fuddy-duddy for a woman your age, Wendy. All right, fine, don’t roll your eyes at me, I’ll contact Ida on the middlewatch.”
“I’m standing right here. I don’t need the play-by-play.”
“Ida, we appear to be in a mild predicament here. …Ida, do you read me? Ida?”
“Fan-bleeping-tastic.”
“Dubby, we appear to be in the midst of a Code 53.”
“There’s a code for being a stowaway on an unknown ship in an unknown location in an unknown time period?”
“… There’s a code for being unable to make contact with headquarters.”
“Right, of course. That’s exactly what I meant.”
“I have to admit, Dubby, there’s one question that’s impressing itself upon my mind rather urgently.”
“Is it ‘What is Soylent Green made out of?’”
“No.”
“Darn. Hold on, I’m sure I was close, is it--”
“We are in a dirigible vessel. Therefore, someone has to be here in order for it to be diriged.”
“Can’t you just say, ‘Who’s flying this thing?””
“Ahem.”
“Gesundheit.”
“I didn’t cough, Boss.”
“Me and God ain’t exactly square. So your blessing won’t do much good. Appreciate the thought, though.”
“Boss. He’s a cowboy. In space.”
“Boss, huh? I don’t suppose you’d have a nice, neat little explanation in regard to what you and your employee are doing on my boat?”
“I apologize for the intrusion, but I’m afraid I am unable to provide that information, Mr…?”
“Reynolds.”
“他妈的!”
“Did you just swear in Chinese?”
“Mandarin, Dubby. You’ll need to brush up.”
Title: Triptych 01
Fandom(s): Firefy
Pairing: gen
Rating: G
Word Count: 350
Written for: whedonland speaking in tongues challenge (at least 10 words in a language besides English)
River is dizzy, disoriented. In the infirmary, again. The cool, incessant blue light fails to calm her. When the pirates board Serenity, she forgets to stay hidden, nestled deep within the walls like Simon taught her. She drifts through the hallways of the vessel, her bare feet rasping gently against the metal grate of the floor. The brigands find her. Seize her. Take her.
- - - - -
They don’t get away clean, though. Mal sees to that. The slow one takes a shot to the shoulder, and his crew don’t even try to wait for him. May be it’s on account of his stellar personality. “Chin wo de pigu,” he says, even as Mal is putting pressure on the wound and calling for Simon. Yet by the time Simon is finished patching him up, they’ve obtained a location from him. It sets a queer feeling in motion at the base of Mal’s spine; he’s seen the doc covered in blood times aplenty, but he’s never seen him look quite this way before. Mal gives the new heading to Wash.
- - - - -
Since River had been reacquired from her kidnappers, Jayne has been acting out of sorts. A wash of noise follows in his wake: thumping, stomping, clanging. Book finally corners him in the kitchen.
"L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle,” Book says.
Jayne squints at him. “Aw, preacher, don’t tell me you’ve gone all addle-pated now, too.”
“Italian.” Book smiles. “‘Love which moves the sun and the other stars.’ One man’s attempt to describe the power of God’s love for all mankind.”
Jayne grunts in response, stirring his mug of… whatever foul-smelling concoction he’s drinking.
“But I believe it can be appropriately used to describe almost any kind of love,” Book continues. “The kind that one sibling may feel for another, for example.”
Jayne pauses with the cup halfway to his mouth, staring stonily at Book.
“What is it about devotion that you find so frightening?” Book casually asks.
Jayne slams down the mug with a loud thunk, and clomps out of the room.
Book picks it up, dumps out the noxious dregs it contained.