BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL

BALLAD

Rare Old Times: Ch. 6
Friday, May 26, 2006

In Which there is a Wave, an Irritating Pilot, and a Dance (sort of)


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 1508    RATING: 10    SERIES: FIREFLY

*** Chapter Six

In Which there is a Wave, an Irritating Pilot, and a Dance (sort of)

*** A/N: Warning: Gratuitous use of Irish phrases. Wanna know what they mean? Check the glossary at the bottom. I tried to get the grammar as correct as possible…my Irish is pretty bad. OK really bad. Yeah, fine, I’ve been studying less than a month. ***

Four days in to the trip, and six out from Hibernia, Saoirse and River were sitting in the cargo bay playing and singing alternately. Jayne and the Shepherd were working out just a few feet away, Book tapping his toes as he spotted the merc. Jayne finished his set, sat up and growled,

“Can’t y’all make that noise someplace else?”

“It’s not noise.” River insisted. “I’m facilitating Saoirse’s desire to hold on to some vestigial cultural attachment to certain songs and styles of music, including, but not limited to, reels, polkas, jigs, sea shanties and so-called ‘pub songs’. The ethnic Irish on Londinium before the colonization of Hibernia were often fiercely attached to the things that defined them as ‘Irish’, especially living under an oppressive regime with no such emotional connection. Music, Gaelic sports, the Irish language, place names. It’s a common response. The tendency seems to have carried on to their descendants. Pointless.”

“Thanks.” Saoirse was staring at the girl in exasperated amusement. “Jesus,-” the Shepherd coughed a little pointedly “I mean, gracious, and here I just thought you liked ‘em.”

“Oh I do! Especially the dirty ones!”

Jayne looked a little gob smacked throughout River’s speech, but brightened at the mention of dirty songs.

“There’s dirty ones?”

Saoirse graced him with a wicked grin.

“Oh, boy, oh boy. I know hundreds. If the Shepherd doesn’t mind…?”

“Well,” Book grunted as he lay back for his set. “I suppose I must technically protest, but I think I could arrange a little temporary deafness in the name of Jayne’s musical education.”

“Ta, Shepherd.” And she immediately launched into a song which seemed to be nearly entirely comprised of the phrase “hup, jamboree”. She made it through two (pretty clean) verses before Wash clattered down the stairs from the bridge.

“Hey folks, I hate to spoil the party-”

“Well then, don’t.” Jayne snarled. “I ain’t heard the dirty bit yet!”

“But-” Wash continued, neatly ignoring Jayne, “There’s a wave coming in for you, Saoirse.”

She handed her guitar off to River and stood, brushing dust off the rear of her pants.

“Who is it?”

“Wouldn’t say,” Wash shrugged as she started up the stairs. “Big man. Older guy, dark hair. Said to tell you it was…uh, mee fine, I think.”

“Me fein*. That’d be my da. Get Mal up there too, would you, Wash? Da’ll be glad to see him.”

“You got it.”

**

Less than three minutes later (one does not make the O’Malley wait) Wash, Mal and Zoe were crowded behind the pilot’s chair as Saoirse took the call.

“Dia dhuit* Da. How’s it going?” Mal studied Finbar’s face as he spoke. It was a little more lined than the last time they’d been face-to-face, but the thick black hair was as black as it ever was and he saw the concerned glint in the older man’s eye, even over the grainy comm. Mal wasn’t sure if he always looked like a mother hen, or if Mal just happened to always see him in the midst of family crisis.

“Just great, Precious. You heard about our boy? Gone off to visit some friends.”

“I heard. Our bodhran* player told me. He saw him just yesterday. Safe and sound.”

“They’re a dangerous crowd, though, baby girl. I’d be right pleased if you could fetch him for me.”

“Don’t worry, Da. Wouldn’t want him fallin’ in with bad folk. I’m workin’ on it. Bringing some old friends in for a bit of a hooley*, dong ma?” She gestured vaguely in the direction of Mal and Zoe as she spoke, and for the first time in the conversation, Finbar O’Malley Senior focused on someone other than his daughter.

“Well, if it ain’t the ol’ Sarge!”

“Hey, O’Malley,” Mal leaned forward, a smile in his eyes. “Good to see you.”

“Long as you ain’t the bearer of bad news this time around, I’ll say the same.”

“It’s Captain, now, Da.” Saoirse interrupted. “It’s his boat I’m riding on. Bringin’ you some fish for the larder and a little something for Cathal as well.”

“Good! What about Declan? You know how he feels left out if you don’t bring him a present.”

“Got that covered, too. Even got myself a little something. Had a little extra cash.”

“Good girl. I always want you to have pretty things.”

“Oh, Da I got the shiniest stuff I could lay hands on. Be about six days. Keep me updated if the boy comes sidling home early, you know how he is.”

“Will do. See ya soon, bao bei.”

“Slán leat*.”

Finbar cut the wave and his daughter sat back in the chair, sighing.

“Well, that went better than I thought it would. Usually there’s shouting and blaming that comes along with a situation like this.” Mal may have only met the O’Malley once, but he had had the unique (and unenviable) position of delivering the news of the death of the man’s son. He felt he was a bit of an expert in the ‘shouting and blaming’ department as far as Finbar O’Malley was concerned.

“Oh, I reckon he’s saving the shoutin’ for when we actually land. Notice he called me Precious? Means I’m really, really, really in trouble. Did it for three months after I came home from Du-Khang. Anyway, he’ll wait ‘til I’m standin’ in his kitchen. Less chance of HPC eavesdroppin’ and hearing something they shouldn’t.”

“Nah, our coretex code is pretty tight. Not likely anyone could be listen’. They’d be more likely to hear something from your kitchen.” Saoirse looked at the first mate witheringly. The O’Malley family farm was miles from their nearest neighbor. “Irish, the way that man yells, they’ll hear him at the damn castle.” Zoe quipped, and Saoirse cracked a smile.

“I’ll tell you something for nothing: He’s not nearly as mad as he should be. Ruadhri was always the favorite.” She stood and offered Wash his chair back with a flourish.

“Aw, hell. Sibs always think that of the others. Maybe he simply has faith in his daughter’s proclivity for violence.” Wash ventured as he took his seat.

“Could be.” Mal conceded. “Or maybe he knows somethin’ we don’t.”

Wash looked up, a little startled as he caught something his wife had said.

“There’s a castle?”

**

Saoirse spent the next few hours explaining that ‘the castle’ was just a figure of speech, referring to the Lord-Lieutenant’s Office, which was indeed a large, impressive building, but by no means a castle, and how the saying encompassed not only the building, but all the people who worked in it, the web of informers that spread over New Dublin, and occasionally, the pubs where all of those men (and women) ate their lunch. She suspected that the pilot was being thick on purpose. And she said so.

“Well, yeah, I suppose. Kind of. It’s just fun to watch all your freckles go really, really dark went you get pale with frustration.”

“ARGH!” She exploded with a strange combination of rage and laughter and shouted down the corridor “ZOE! YOU MARRIED THIS TIANCAI?”

“YEP!” came the answering cry.

“WHY?”

“THE MAN SHAVED HIS MUSTACHE FOR ME!”

“Oh.” Saoirse looked thoughtful. “Good reason.”

Wash shook his head.

“Sometimes I just don’t understand the complex female mind.”

“Sometimes?” Saoirse shot back.

“Ok, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

**

“Ahem,”

The not-so-subtle throat-clearing from the door of the infirmary lit a small smile on Dr. Tam’s face as he turned.

“Kaylee. Feeling all right?”

“Oh, you know,” Kaylee tried (and mostly succeeded) to sound nonchalant as she stepped into Simon’s domain. “My head’s still hurtin’ and it’s startin’ to interfere with my work….hard to concentrate on the cooling drive when it feels like somebody’s bashin’ you on the back of the noggin with a wrench.”

The shy young man who had fled at the thought of this young woman seeing him shirtless shifted instantly into concerned-doctor mode.

“Ok, why don’t you have a seat right here,” he rushed to her side (granted in the tiny infirmary, it wasn’t much of a rush) and placed his hand at the small of her back, purely to direct her to the examination chair of course, despite the fact that she knew perfectly well how to cross three feet of deck and climb up. “and I’ll try to do a little painless prodding.” Kaylee’s brain managed to turn that perfectly innocent sentence into at least three innuendos, but she kept them to herself. As Simon slid his hands through her thick hair, she could almost forget the doctor/patient context and allow her imagination to roam to far more interesting, sweaty and naked scenarios…until his questing fingers (long, firm but gentle, SIGH!) hit what felt like a massive lump in her scalp.

“Ow,” she whimpered.

“Are you alright?” his voice was low and almost buzzing in her ear. She nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “Isn’t it amazing,” the voice continued, apparently guilelessly, with no idea the effect it was having on her higher cognitive functions “how much more painful small injuries-like a bump on the head- can seem when you don’t have a larger one to contend with?”

Tooooooooooooot.

The sudden interruption of a very high ‘G’ held for a particularly long time, apparently without breath, caused the pair to jump away from each other as if they had been burned.

River was standing in the doorway, her new tin whistle in hand, rolling her eyes.

“Dancing. Circling and sniffing, a slow waltz. Get to the tango already, won’t you?”

Both of them suddenly found anywhere to look other than each other or River.

“Well, I should get back to that cooling drive and-”

“Yes, yes, uh, here,” Simon handed her two pills, with a little fumbling. “For the pain.”

“Right, thanks, Simon.” And she fled.

River rolled her eyes again as her brother turned a fierce glare on her.

“Shouldn’t you be…learning Irish by mental osmosis, or calculating the number of scales on the fish in the hold, or anywhere but here?”

“Boys.” River huffed. “Saoirse’s arguing with Wash. She enjoys it. Reminds her of Murph. The fish don’t have scales. They’re filleted. And you need encouragement.”

“I don’t need my baby sister telling me to…tango…with the cute mechanic!”

“Yes you do,” she sighed “Supposed to be bright, top Three Percent. Yuben de pigu.” And with that, she skipped away, singing “And when we reach the Blackpool Docks/the pretty young girls come down in flocks/It’s down with their knickers/and up with their frocks/Johnny get your oats, me son!”

“Sisters,” Simon sighed, resignedly. If she wasn’t his mei-mei, he reflected, he probably would have shot her dead at the age of thirteen.

** A/N cont’d: Sorry, sorry! I swear, this was supposed to be the chapter where they landed and actually started the ‘caper’ but, well, I just can’t seem to get off that boat! My outline’s all shot to hell. Lol. Also, apologies to any doctors/nurses/lifeguards/EMTS or basically anyone who knows anything about first aid for the Infirmary scene. I know nothing. I bow at the feet of those with medical training. I make no apologies for the blatant Silee of it though. They’re just so cute! Also: The Terry Prachett references will be starting in 7….I think. Still got a li’l cameo role up for grabs! **

Glossary

Me fein: Irish “me, myself.” Dia dhuit: Irish. “hello, good day” Bodhran: the traditional Irish frame drum. Big, round and often very, very loud. Also, often badly played. I love it. Slán leat: Irish, good-bye Hooley: I don’t actually know if this is a word in the Irish language or not! Huh. But it basically means a big party. And you can’t have a hooley without a fight, right?

COMMENTS

Friday, May 26, 2006 5:18 AM

TAYEATRA


Yay! I might actually get first comment!

Also, you can stay on the ship as long as you like if you keep turning out scenes like these. And Kaylee's mind isn't the only one that started reeling through innuendo there.

I get the feeling that Jayne will be spending the remainder of the trip learning dirty songs!

Friday, May 26, 2006 5:47 AM

LEIASKY


>“Dancing. Circling and sniffing, a slow waltz. Get to the tango already, won’t you?”

ROTFL! OMG, I love River!

Simon needs encouragement, or just a swift PUSH. At least he admitted the mechanic was cute!

Yeah, my mind worked through every innuendo there too.

Ahh, got to love the sexual tension. . . so long as there is a nice BIG payoff at the end! laugh

Friday, May 26, 2006 2:13 PM

BLUEEYEDBRIGADIER


Ah River...the boy needs so much prodding;)

Loving this series, Ballad...and I can't wait for Finbar's confrontation with Saoirse and Mal;)

BEB


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