fic: pause (firefly)
truthsome_fic ficathon: vivfic requested weapons, silk and some nice pining.
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: It whispers against her skin like a memory.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Mal/Inara
SPOILERS: post-Objects In Space, pre-Serenity
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
NOTES: Pinyin translations in mouseover.
THANKS TO: hannasus for betaing. Much appreciated.
WORDS: 1,012
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; May 2006.
* * * * *
Pause by anr
* * * * *
The room Sheydra escorts her to is draped in silk.
"We were unsure of your preferences," she says, as Inara precedes her inside. "So I have arranged for Madam Chau to visit tomorrow."
It's a large room, minimally furnished, with hinged shutters on every wall and floor-to-ceiling drapes of every shade of blue imaginable. Inara circles the room slowly, skimming her fingers along the edge of the bed, and chaise, and then opening each set of shutters (wardrobe, window, water closet) methodically as she mentally works out where she will place her tea set, and fans, and pillows.
"She redecorated the girls' living quarters for us last Spring," continues Sheydra, "and we were suitably pleased with the results. I'm sure she'll be able to accommodate your tastes."
Back to the window now, and she runs her palm over the closest drop of fabric thoughtfully. The colour is just a hue darker than what she remembers staring into only minutes ago, his gaze unreadable as he left her on the steps of the Training House, and she cannot help but lean forward slightly so that it can brush against her cheek.
It's rough, xiâo, and it whispers against her skin like a memory, like the feel of calloused fingers...
"No." Even to her own ears, her voice sounds quiet, far away. She raises it deliberately. "This is fine. Thank you."
"As you wish," says Sheydra, a smile evident in her tone, before excusing herself to see to the girls.
On the horizon, a ship banks silently towards the black.
Inara closes her eyes.
*
Kaylee sends letters occasionally. Short little missives that ask after her and the girls of the Training House, and does she have any new loves nearby? She sends drawings from River and sweet words from Simon and Wash, and reveals with palpable sorrow that Book has left them also for Haven. Jayne and Zoe say hey, and Kaylee always signs off with: Serenity misses you bad, won't you come back?
Inara replies: I'm well and thank you and hey back. The no at the end, she thinks, is implicit.
*
She draws on her memories of Madrassa far more than she would like.
How to recline, how to speak. Lean in to show interest, arch back to encourage reciprocation. Teas to soothe and brews to excite.
She repeats what she was once told, the recitations sometimes word-for-word, and hears her own instructors in the echoes.
And yet, for all that, she knows it's not enough, not what they need, but she hasn't the vocabulary for any more. There is just too much that the girls must learn and not nearly enough time for her to find the words to teach them.
They are too old, too naive, and too soon they will be out in the black, her sisters in name if not in practice. But being a companion is about more than the body and the way it moves; it's part intuition, part instinct, and while she can tell them how to act, she cannot explain how Jonathon Astard liked her submissive but Ling Yao dominant, how Bella Denerre liked her tasting of saki and Mikkal Harris called her mâ mî.
She cannot teach them how to know a client, to know their wants but then give them, instead, what they really need.
When she voices her concerns to Sheydra, however, their conversations drift in slow circles, inevitably ending with an encouraging smile and the words, just tell them what you know.
It worries her that it can be thought that easy.
*
Another day, another week, another month.
Her throat is sore from reciting the Guild laws; her shoulder aches from demonstrating how to parry, to thrust, to wield a sword with grace and skill.
Footsteps sound briefly in the hall outside her room and she tenses out of habit...
... but the intrusion never comes.
She stands at her window, fingers brushing silk, and searches the horizon and wishes, just briefly, just for a moment, that he had asked her to stay.
*
Kaylee writes and River adds a postscript:
just listen
just wait
for the shot in the black
do not jì dàn
Her pistol hasn't seen the left side of a place setting in months, let alone starlight. She doesn't reply.
*
"Inara Serra."
The table is already set, the cups artfully placed. It is her favourite set, and she has to stop herself from gathering it up and replacing it with something less fine, less cherished.
"Born on Sihnon to parents of established means. You entered Madrassa at the age of six and there you remained -- contentedly, it was assumed -- until eighteen months ago."
Kneeling gracefully, she reaches for the pot and turns it three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise, and then three times clockwise again.
"The Guild's favoured choice for house priestess, you left in search of independence..." His gaze, even as he mocks her, is piercing, assessing. "... and found, instead, an Independent. Ironic, don't you think?"
She pours slowly, carefully, and wishes her swords weren't locked away in the practice hall, her shan zhà dàn in the room across the hall.
"I wonder," he says. "Is Lust his sin too?"
To that, she does respond. "If Captain Reynolds comes," she says coolly, "it will be for the money alone."
"It is said that Senator Jung once stripped three Master Artisans of their titles for their inability to accurately capture your presence." His tone is amused now. She finds that far more troubling. "For a woman of such acclaim, you hold little value for your own worth."
With a steady hand, she holds out one of the cups and looks him in the eye. "Tea?"
He smiles as he takes it. "He will come for you, of that I have no doubt."
She returns the expression easily, and nods with careful resignation, but thinks, no, no.
He won't.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: It whispers against her skin like a memory.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Mal/Inara
SPOILERS: post-Objects In Space, pre-Serenity
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
NOTES: Pinyin translations in mouseover.
THANKS TO: hannasus for betaing. Much appreciated.
WORDS: 1,012
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; May 2006.
* * * * *
Pause by anr
* * * * *
The room Sheydra escorts her to is draped in silk.
"We were unsure of your preferences," she says, as Inara precedes her inside. "So I have arranged for Madam Chau to visit tomorrow."
It's a large room, minimally furnished, with hinged shutters on every wall and floor-to-ceiling drapes of every shade of blue imaginable. Inara circles the room slowly, skimming her fingers along the edge of the bed, and chaise, and then opening each set of shutters (wardrobe, window, water closet) methodically as she mentally works out where she will place her tea set, and fans, and pillows.
"She redecorated the girls' living quarters for us last Spring," continues Sheydra, "and we were suitably pleased with the results. I'm sure she'll be able to accommodate your tastes."
Back to the window now, and she runs her palm over the closest drop of fabric thoughtfully. The colour is just a hue darker than what she remembers staring into only minutes ago, his gaze unreadable as he left her on the steps of the Training House, and she cannot help but lean forward slightly so that it can brush against her cheek.
It's rough, xiâo, and it whispers against her skin like a memory, like the feel of calloused fingers...
"No." Even to her own ears, her voice sounds quiet, far away. She raises it deliberately. "This is fine. Thank you."
"As you wish," says Sheydra, a smile evident in her tone, before excusing herself to see to the girls.
On the horizon, a ship banks silently towards the black.
Inara closes her eyes.
*
Kaylee sends letters occasionally. Short little missives that ask after her and the girls of the Training House, and does she have any new loves nearby? She sends drawings from River and sweet words from Simon and Wash, and reveals with palpable sorrow that Book has left them also for Haven. Jayne and Zoe say hey, and Kaylee always signs off with: Serenity misses you bad, won't you come back?
Inara replies: I'm well and thank you and hey back. The no at the end, she thinks, is implicit.
*
She draws on her memories of Madrassa far more than she would like.
How to recline, how to speak. Lean in to show interest, arch back to encourage reciprocation. Teas to soothe and brews to excite.
She repeats what she was once told, the recitations sometimes word-for-word, and hears her own instructors in the echoes.
And yet, for all that, she knows it's not enough, not what they need, but she hasn't the vocabulary for any more. There is just too much that the girls must learn and not nearly enough time for her to find the words to teach them.
They are too old, too naive, and too soon they will be out in the black, her sisters in name if not in practice. But being a companion is about more than the body and the way it moves; it's part intuition, part instinct, and while she can tell them how to act, she cannot explain how Jonathon Astard liked her submissive but Ling Yao dominant, how Bella Denerre liked her tasting of saki and Mikkal Harris called her mâ mî.
She cannot teach them how to know a client, to know their wants but then give them, instead, what they really need.
When she voices her concerns to Sheydra, however, their conversations drift in slow circles, inevitably ending with an encouraging smile and the words, just tell them what you know.
It worries her that it can be thought that easy.
*
Another day, another week, another month.
Her throat is sore from reciting the Guild laws; her shoulder aches from demonstrating how to parry, to thrust, to wield a sword with grace and skill.
Footsteps sound briefly in the hall outside her room and she tenses out of habit...
... but the intrusion never comes.
She stands at her window, fingers brushing silk, and searches the horizon and wishes, just briefly, just for a moment, that he had asked her to stay.
*
Kaylee writes and River adds a postscript:
just listen
just wait
for the shot in the black
do not jì dàn
Her pistol hasn't seen the left side of a place setting in months, let alone starlight. She doesn't reply.
*
"Inara Serra."
The table is already set, the cups artfully placed. It is her favourite set, and she has to stop herself from gathering it up and replacing it with something less fine, less cherished.
"Born on Sihnon to parents of established means. You entered Madrassa at the age of six and there you remained -- contentedly, it was assumed -- until eighteen months ago."
Kneeling gracefully, she reaches for the pot and turns it three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise, and then three times clockwise again.
"The Guild's favoured choice for house priestess, you left in search of independence..." His gaze, even as he mocks her, is piercing, assessing. "... and found, instead, an Independent. Ironic, don't you think?"
She pours slowly, carefully, and wishes her swords weren't locked away in the practice hall, her shan zhà dàn in the room across the hall.
"I wonder," he says. "Is Lust his sin too?"
To that, she does respond. "If Captain Reynolds comes," she says coolly, "it will be for the money alone."
"It is said that Senator Jung once stripped three Master Artisans of their titles for their inability to accurately capture your presence." His tone is amused now. She finds that far more troubling. "For a woman of such acclaim, you hold little value for your own worth."
With a steady hand, she holds out one of the cups and looks him in the eye. "Tea?"
He smiles as he takes it. "He will come for you, of that I have no doubt."
She returns the expression easily, and nods with careful resignation, but thinks, no, no.
He won't.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*