BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL

STORMWIND

A New ‘Verse-VII-Inside
Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Mal meets his rescuers and the objects of his mission. There's good folk in every corner of the 'Verse as well as bad.


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 898    RATING: 10    SERIES: FIREFLY

A New ‘Verse-VII-Inside A figure towered over Mal as he lay on his back in the cell, huge and dark skinned; his erstwhile rescuer. “That was a close one, friend. Harris and his boys don’t always feel like backing down like that.” “Lucky me then,” said Mal, rolling over and standing up. The cell was really a block of four, the middle walls smashed down and the pieces blocking up all but on entrance. There was a half dozen people scattered around the cell; a skinny Asiatic boy watching the door, shiv in his hand. A short young woman hovered in the background, hair raven black and curled. She was pretty and would have been beautiful, except for a scar which ran from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and down to the lobe of her ear. There was another man, older than Mal, stocky and thick necked, his head shaven, a lump of scar tissue protruding from his neck. A fighter, Mal guessed, one who had seen plenty of action. The older man spoke, “You sure are lucky. If it hadn’t been for her, we never would have moved to pull you out of that.” He pointed behind Mal and he spun, coming face to face with Dash Simmons, leaning against the wall, a smile on her face. Her hair was longer than when he’d last seen her, tied back in a pony tail and dirty and there were new scars and bruises, but it was Dash. He’d know those purple eyes anywhere. “Hiya Sarge,” she said quietly, “Ain’t surprised you’d wind up in a place like this.” “Hullo Dash,” Mal grinned back at her, “Its been a while.” “Wait a minute,” cut in the dark haired woman from across the room, “You two know each other?” “More than a little,” grinned Dash, “Mal and me are war buddies. And I don’t go around getting my friends to save ordinary people from gangsters.” Dash grinned wider and jumped forward and hugged him, Mal hugging her back fiercely. “What did you get yourself pinched for Mal?” Mal released her, breaking away from the familiar contact, “That might take a bit of explaining Dash. Why don’t you introduce me to your fine lookin’ friends here, afore I begin that tale?” “C’mon Dash!” said big man, Mal’s rescuer, teasing, “Where are your manners! Didn’t your mama ever teach you none?” “Put a sock in it, Blake. My mama was far to busy keepin’ thieves like you in their hole to teach me manners.” The blonde pilot punched the big man in the arm fondly, “This here is Blake Taylor, former captain and engineer of the smugglin ship Hideout. He’s the leader of our little band of honorable outlaws and can more than handle himself in a fight. Blake, everybody, this is Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, an old friend of mine. Make Mal as welcome as you can to a Slam.” Blake clapped Mal on the back with a meaty fist, knocking the wind out of him. “Pleased to meet you Mal. Any friend of Dash is a friend of ours. Let me introduce you to what’s left of my crew.” He mentioned the scarred woman over, putting an arm her shoulders, “This is Persephone Dormin, known as Siph to her friends, my darling wife and sometime medic.” The young woman grinned, “Actually, he’s my husband.” Blake continued, waving an arm at the older scarred man, “This is Samul Grin, my first mate. He’s as reliable as they come.” Mal caught the brief stumble over the title of first mate; Samul hadn’t always been so. He shook hands with the older man, feeling the muscle behind the grasp, as Blake turned to the Asiatic boy. “And this is Kosuke, the best man with a blade in the whole of the Slam. He doesn’t speak English but he understands it alright.” Kosuke turned and nodded to Mal, his eyes grey and dead, then went back to watching the Slam through the door. Mal couldn’t help shiver at the coldness of his gaze. Dash picked up the introductions, waving over the last two, a man and a woman in their middle years, the man dark haired and well built, the woman slight and pale. “And this is Joby and Laura. Political activists from the Core.” Joby shook Mal’s hand firmly, “A pleasure to meet the man who did so much in Serenity Valley.” Mal stared back at him in surprise, “You’ve heard of me?” “Surely have. There’s plenty of records that the Alliance doesn’t advertise and one of them was how they very nearly lost on Hera,” said Laura, “Plus Dash talked about you more than a few times.” Mal turned to Dash, “You did, huh?” “Nothing too positive let me promise you Sarge,” She ducked her head, embarrassed, “Ain’t much to do in here cept talk, Mal. Oh. And stay alive.” Kosuke suddenly tapped on the bars of the cell with his shiv, first one up high, then three fast taps at his knee level. Mal looked at Blake, a question on his lips. “Don’t worry, Reynolds. Its friends coming back.” It was three men, one tall and lanky, perhaps in his late twenties, the second more of an age with Mal, short and wiry, tossing a shiv form hand to hand. The third was young, the youngest he’d seen in the Slam so far. He was thin, with brown hair the same shade as his eyes and a softness to his features that was instantly recognizable, something that Mal saw everyday in his sister. Mal smiled to himself and stayed quiet, letting the newcomers enter the cell. The tall man heaved a sack to the ground, “Here we are. Food, a bit of water and some materials for makin’ fire. Norys’s lot liked those bone needles you made, Siph,” He noticed Mal, “Who’s the new guy?” “Who cares?” said the older man, grinning at Mal, his eyes aflame with the light of madness, “He’ll be dead in a week or a day or a week. We have a higggggh-turnover rate. Don’t we, Blake? Is this Derryn’s replacement? Or Torn’s?” “You keep your mouth shut, Weaver!” growled Blake, cracking his knuckles. “Yaarrrr, you don’t scare me Blake! Sleep with one eye open! Devil’s stalkin the daylight,” with a cackling laugh, Weaver pushed Kosuke out of the way and disappeared into the steam and heat of the prison. “I’m sorry about that,” said the tall young man, “Weaver’s alright really, he just has …moods,” Blake snorted and turned away, and the other newcomer laughed derisively, “He’s a crazy Hwoon dan, ya mean?” “Sometimes. I’m Fian Pritchard by the way. And this is-” “Jeremiah Frye,” Mal cut in. Every eye turned to him. “How in the hell do ya know that?” Mal gathered everyone in around him, “I think its time I told ya’ll why I’m here.”

COMMENTS

Wednesday, July 16, 2008 6:26 PM

ANGELLEMARCS


You rock. Love your delevopement of Dash and her crew. Am waiting to see the words Kaylee has for her brother. :) Great stuff.


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