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Jul. 6th, 2006 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wordslingingTitle: Aid and Succor
Fandom: Firefly/Dark Tower/Milliways(RPG).
Characters/Pairings: River, Simon
Rating: PG
Summary: Sort of Firefly by way of Milliways and Dark Tower, as it takes place entirely in the FF universe, but with heavy DT influences from the RPG. In other words, you may be a bit lost if you're not a follower of the game, or at least of both canons. :D?
To call Lockwood a backwater would be being generous. It was a tiny little dustball of a planet, so far out on the rim that the Alliance—or at least, a good portion of those in the Alliance’s employ—may actually have forgotten it existed. For several years after the Unification War, this did the citizens of Lockwood fine, for most of those who chose to settle there were unreformed Independents who liked nothing better than the prospect of being left to live their lives their own way.
But there were those who would slip under the Alliance’s radar for less than noble reasons—something the people of Lockwood learned five or six years after the war, when a handful of toughs with guns started demanding “tribute” for keeping the populace “safe”. Exactly what they were keeping it safe from, no one ever saw fit to elaborate—the planet had never attracted the attention of Reavers any more than it had the attention of the Alliance or anyone else. In fact, the Wolves (for so they called themselves) had most often been known to use their guns on the citizenry. But as pointing this out usually earned you at best a fist in the gut (and at worst a bullet), there had been no one to stop the Wolves from effectively grinding Lockwood under their heel for nigh on ten years now.
So it was on the day Serenity landed there.
The Firefly wasn’t there on business. The Wolves did a modest trade in offworld smuggling, but Mal Reynolds had done business with them once, and wasn’t keen to do so again. All he wanted from Lockwood was fresh supplies.
But it so happened that one member of Reynolds’ crew had a habit of wandering off, and another a habit of following her. And so they were in the market—or, rather, the closest thing approaching a market in the closest thing approaching a city that the planet had to offer—when a party of Wolves rode in to do some “shopping”. And they were there when two young men of the courageous but stupid variety stood up to them and got, respectively, a bullet in the chest and a horsewhip across the face for their troubles.
The survivor was still glaring after the departing Wolves, one hand pressed to his wounded cheek, when the young woman who everyone had marked as an off-worlder stepped forward.
“You want them gone.” It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was young, and nice to listen to, but it didn’t sound like the voice of a fighter. “Everyone else does too, but they’re scared. But—maybe not too scared, if—“ She paused, glancing off to the side for a moment, then looked back at the young man. “I can help you.”
A fair-sized crowd had gathered around the young man and the corpse of his friend by now, and they all stared at the young woman. She was wearing a long brown duster, and the coat was open enough to show a gunbelt crossing her middle, but this girl was surely too young to have been a Browncoat. She was maybe twenty-five, and small enough to still be taken for a teenager. And her youth wasn’t the only thing that earned her offer of help odd looks—her long dark hair was loose and tangled, and before the Wolves had shattered the humdrum calm of the market, more than one of the townsfolk had remarked on the girl’s odd, distracted air and the way her companion often seemed to be shepherding her.
Said companion—a handsome man some years older, who looked like he had no business on a planet this far out—was moving toward her now, his brow furrowed.
“River, I don’t think—“
“Simon,” the girl cut him off, a note of frustration in her voice. “She can. It’s all right.”
The young man—Simon—led her off to the side, and a hushed but urgent discussion ensued. The townsfolk went about the business of tending to their dead and wounded, but more than one of them kept an ear, if not an eye, on the offworlders, and caught such snatches of talk as “Captain’ll help—“ “But River, he’s not going to like...” and “We can’t just—“ “Can’t just not. Supposed to help folk.”
Finally, the girl—River—pulled away from her companion, and spoke loudly enough for all to hear.
“It’s what she is, Simon. What she’s supposed to do. Caught it and—and said the words, and you said—“ her hand went to her hip now, resting over the bulk of something inside the coat. “Gave it to her. She—I got better enough to carry it. You said.”
“River...” Simon still wore a concerned look, but his protest wasn’t as strong now. River lifted her chin, looking up at him with a mixture of defiance, love, and pride, and spoke four words.
“It’s what I am.”
For a long moment after that, Simon didn’t move, speak, or take his eyes off her. Finally, he gave a slight nod.
“If the rest of the crew are willing to help. And—and if enough of the people here want it.” He paused. “If they answer the questions.”
River nodded, with a small smile that made her look like no more than a kid. But when she turned back to the knot of townsfolk, her young, pretty face was surprisingly hard, and her dark eyes looked clearer than they had since she’d entered the marketplace. Her coat now hung open enough for all of them to see the gun on her hip—a big revolver with an antique look. The handgrips were made from some kind of wood, polished until it almost seemed to glow.
The question she asked them then should have been the last, and later, when she stood before a larger crowd with Mal Reynolds at her side, it would be. But for now, here, it was the question that was right to ask first, and so River Tam asked it, her young voice clear and strong.
“Do you seek aid and succor?”
Fandom: Firefly/Dark Tower/Milliways(RPG).
Characters/Pairings: River, Simon
Rating: PG
Summary: Sort of Firefly by way of Milliways and Dark Tower, as it takes place entirely in the FF universe, but with heavy DT influences from the RPG. In other words, you may be a bit lost if you're not a follower of the game, or at least of both canons. :D?
To call Lockwood a backwater would be being generous. It was a tiny little dustball of a planet, so far out on the rim that the Alliance—or at least, a good portion of those in the Alliance’s employ—may actually have forgotten it existed. For several years after the Unification War, this did the citizens of Lockwood fine, for most of those who chose to settle there were unreformed Independents who liked nothing better than the prospect of being left to live their lives their own way.
But there were those who would slip under the Alliance’s radar for less than noble reasons—something the people of Lockwood learned five or six years after the war, when a handful of toughs with guns started demanding “tribute” for keeping the populace “safe”. Exactly what they were keeping it safe from, no one ever saw fit to elaborate—the planet had never attracted the attention of Reavers any more than it had the attention of the Alliance or anyone else. In fact, the Wolves (for so they called themselves) had most often been known to use their guns on the citizenry. But as pointing this out usually earned you at best a fist in the gut (and at worst a bullet), there had been no one to stop the Wolves from effectively grinding Lockwood under their heel for nigh on ten years now.
So it was on the day Serenity landed there.
The Firefly wasn’t there on business. The Wolves did a modest trade in offworld smuggling, but Mal Reynolds had done business with them once, and wasn’t keen to do so again. All he wanted from Lockwood was fresh supplies.
But it so happened that one member of Reynolds’ crew had a habit of wandering off, and another a habit of following her. And so they were in the market—or, rather, the closest thing approaching a market in the closest thing approaching a city that the planet had to offer—when a party of Wolves rode in to do some “shopping”. And they were there when two young men of the courageous but stupid variety stood up to them and got, respectively, a bullet in the chest and a horsewhip across the face for their troubles.
The survivor was still glaring after the departing Wolves, one hand pressed to his wounded cheek, when the young woman who everyone had marked as an off-worlder stepped forward.
“You want them gone.” It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was young, and nice to listen to, but it didn’t sound like the voice of a fighter. “Everyone else does too, but they’re scared. But—maybe not too scared, if—“ She paused, glancing off to the side for a moment, then looked back at the young man. “I can help you.”
A fair-sized crowd had gathered around the young man and the corpse of his friend by now, and they all stared at the young woman. She was wearing a long brown duster, and the coat was open enough to show a gunbelt crossing her middle, but this girl was surely too young to have been a Browncoat. She was maybe twenty-five, and small enough to still be taken for a teenager. And her youth wasn’t the only thing that earned her offer of help odd looks—her long dark hair was loose and tangled, and before the Wolves had shattered the humdrum calm of the market, more than one of the townsfolk had remarked on the girl’s odd, distracted air and the way her companion often seemed to be shepherding her.
Said companion—a handsome man some years older, who looked like he had no business on a planet this far out—was moving toward her now, his brow furrowed.
“River, I don’t think—“
“Simon,” the girl cut him off, a note of frustration in her voice. “She can. It’s all right.”
The young man—Simon—led her off to the side, and a hushed but urgent discussion ensued. The townsfolk went about the business of tending to their dead and wounded, but more than one of them kept an ear, if not an eye, on the offworlders, and caught such snatches of talk as “Captain’ll help—“ “But River, he’s not going to like...” and “We can’t just—“ “Can’t just not. Supposed to help folk.”
Finally, the girl—River—pulled away from her companion, and spoke loudly enough for all to hear.
“It’s what she is, Simon. What she’s supposed to do. Caught it and—and said the words, and you said—“ her hand went to her hip now, resting over the bulk of something inside the coat. “Gave it to her. She—I got better enough to carry it. You said.”
“River...” Simon still wore a concerned look, but his protest wasn’t as strong now. River lifted her chin, looking up at him with a mixture of defiance, love, and pride, and spoke four words.
“It’s what I am.”
For a long moment after that, Simon didn’t move, speak, or take his eyes off her. Finally, he gave a slight nod.
“If the rest of the crew are willing to help. And—and if enough of the people here want it.” He paused. “If they answer the questions.”
River nodded, with a small smile that made her look like no more than a kid. But when she turned back to the knot of townsfolk, her young, pretty face was surprisingly hard, and her dark eyes looked clearer than they had since she’d entered the marketplace. Her coat now hung open enough for all of them to see the gun on her hip—a big revolver with an antique look. The handgrips were made from some kind of wood, polished until it almost seemed to glow.
The question she asked them then should have been the last, and later, when she stood before a larger crowd with Mal Reynolds at her side, it would be. But for now, here, it was the question that was right to ask first, and so River Tam asked it, her young voice clear and strong.
“Do you seek aid and succor?”
