✩ Firefly: Fowl Balls (The Ain't Nobody Here But Us Remix)
✩ [ Jayne | PG | 200 words ]
The worst thing about being a rooster.
Original story: Fowl Tempered by lyrstzha, 365 words.
Remix author: isiscolo
Author’s Note: While the remix and the story it remixes each stand alone, both are sequels to the 1200-word Fowl Play (PG, Jayne gen) and neither makes much sense without it. Or with it, for that matter.
Fowl Balls (The Ain't Nobody Here But Us Remix)
The worst thing about being a rooster was being toted around like a sack of trade goods, thought Jayne as Mal scooped him into his arms.
“I suggest you put me down right quick,” he said, or tried to. It all came out bok bok bok. Nah, he was wrong. That was the worst thing about being a rooster: not being able to express his displeasure other than by crapping on Mal’s arm. (Which he did.)
Mal carried him toward the bridge, and gorram it, if only he had Vera, he’d make Mal see it was in his own best interests to set him down. But of course he didn’t have Vera, and if he did he still wouldn’t be able to do a gorram thing. No opposable thumbs. Hell, no hands. Which was probably, reflected Jayne, the worst thing about being a rooster.
“Your turn to watch the chicken,” announced Mal, dumping Jayne into Wash’s lap.
Wash looked at him and grinned. “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
“Nimen dou shi sagua! Ain’t neither a gorram chicken,” squawked Jayne. Bok bok bok.
That was it, the worst thing about being a rooster. Everyone kept calling him a chicken.
The worst thing about being a rooster.
Original story: Fowl Tempered by lyrstzha, 365 words.
Remix author: isiscolo
Author’s Note: While the remix and the story it remixes each stand alone, both are sequels to the 1200-word Fowl Play (PG, Jayne gen) and neither makes much sense without it. Or with it, for that matter.
Fowl Balls (The Ain't Nobody Here But Us Remix)
The worst thing about being a rooster was being toted around like a sack of trade goods, thought Jayne as Mal scooped him into his arms.
“I suggest you put me down right quick,” he said, or tried to. It all came out bok bok bok. Nah, he was wrong. That was the worst thing about being a rooster: not being able to express his displeasure other than by crapping on Mal’s arm. (Which he did.)
Mal carried him toward the bridge, and gorram it, if only he had Vera, he’d make Mal see it was in his own best interests to set him down. But of course he didn’t have Vera, and if he did he still wouldn’t be able to do a gorram thing. No opposable thumbs. Hell, no hands. Which was probably, reflected Jayne, the worst thing about being a rooster.
“Your turn to watch the chicken,” announced Mal, dumping Jayne into Wash’s lap.
Wash looked at him and grinned. “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
“Nimen dou shi sagua! Ain’t neither a gorram chicken,” squawked Jayne. Bok bok bok.
That was it, the worst thing about being a rooster. Everyone kept calling him a chicken.