She was months and miles beyond measure from anyplace she could call home, in the company of alleged thieves by her own hand. She’d been warned, Zarah had been positively gleeful in her promises of the dangers of the world outside the civilized systems, describing the starvation and random violence of the outer worlds with near-delight, assuring Inarra, even as she packed, that her belonging would be redistributed within a year to parlor-house whores and pawn shops, stolen by the unruly fugitives from commerce that she’d signed on with. Mal insinuated over her contacts, and Kalylee cooed over her closet, but no one on the ship had touched her.
The drunk backhanded her again. “And I don’t care what the mayor says, you ain’t nothing more than a - scruckgh.”
Her forearm ached where she’d blocked the first blows, and her skirt was torn where she’d kicked out, but he’d been numb enough, either with rage or drugs, to ignore her and she kept her eyes down, adopting an attitude of submission to buy enough time to find an escape route. He dropped to the dirt in front of her and she gaped. His eyes were open, and a spatter of blood decorated his cheek. She blinked, confused, sure that she’d not landed that solid of a blow, and a dirty brown boot stepped over him, between the unmoving body and her own knees, and she looked up to see the mercenary, the big fellow, reaching a filthy hand down to her.
“Mr. Jayne.”
“Miss Inarra.”
Force of habit kicked in and she said “Thank you.” She took his hand, careful not to pull, though he could, no doubt, lift her off the ground one handed, and rocked to her feet. She stepped around the man sprawled beneath them, rather than over him, and raised her chin in pride as she chose not to kick out at him as she walked away. “Best we leave soonish.”
“I agree, I have no business here.”
“Yeah, I figured he wasn’t your -“
“Mr. Jayne,” she cut his next words off. She had avoided this discussion and would continue to do so as long as possible. “I owe you my gratitude.”
“Yeah well, you know,” he grunted and she didn’t; she honestly had no idea. She pulled the shawl up, her fingers turning automatically to hide the rip in it as well, folding the edge over and letting it drape from her elbow.
He mumbled something below her hearing and she walked away from the edge of the building into the street proper. If anything about a street of nothing more than pressure flattened dirt could be proper. He fell into step behind her, matching her pace, even as she relaxed and quickened it, and she led them both back to the shipyard, back to Serenity.
The drunk backhanded her again. “And I don’t care what the mayor says, you ain’t nothing more than a - scruckgh.”
Her forearm ached where she’d blocked the first blows, and her skirt was torn where she’d kicked out, but he’d been numb enough, either with rage or drugs, to ignore her and she kept her eyes down, adopting an attitude of submission to buy enough time to find an escape route. He dropped to the dirt in front of her and she gaped. His eyes were open, and a spatter of blood decorated his cheek. She blinked, confused, sure that she’d not landed that solid of a blow, and a dirty brown boot stepped over him, between the unmoving body and her own knees, and she looked up to see the mercenary, the big fellow, reaching a filthy hand down to her.
“Mr. Jayne.”
“Miss Inarra.”
Force of habit kicked in and she said “Thank you.” She took his hand, careful not to pull, though he could, no doubt, lift her off the ground one handed, and rocked to her feet. She stepped around the man sprawled beneath them, rather than over him, and raised her chin in pride as she chose not to kick out at him as she walked away.
“Best we leave soonish.”
“I agree, I have no business here.”
“Yeah, I figured he wasn’t your -“
“Mr. Jayne,” she cut his next words off. She had avoided this discussion and would continue to do so as long as possible. “I owe you my gratitude.”
“Yeah well, you know,” he grunted and she didn’t; she honestly had no idea. She pulled the shawl up, her fingers turning automatically to hide the rip in it as well, folding the edge over and letting it drape from her elbow.
He mumbled something below her hearing and she walked away from the edge of the building into the street proper. If anything about a street of nothing more than pressure flattened dirt could be proper. He fell into step behind her, matching her pace, even as she relaxed and quickened it, and she led them both back to the shipyard, back to Serenity.
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You know it happened. I think you know how much I love the grey areas and Inara is very very grey.
You win!
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