badinlatin | Beaumonde, Maidenhead Bar.

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Beaumonde, Maidenhead Bar.

Beaumonde. Home to...well, pretty much everything, in very large amounts, all mixed together like so much debris from a storm of neon lights and rice cake vendors.

Mal'd never admit it to anyone that didn't know him, but he really does like coming to The Maidenhead. Except for the fact that the management makes Mal and his crew lock up their weapons with these go se key cards before walking down the center staircase. Simon and Kaylee first down the stairs, as they had no guns to stow, then Wash and Zoe are hand in hand while Mal and Jayne keep an eye out for the latest contacts for the last bit of business for the Lilac job.

Mal casts an eye to Wash and Zoe, who had been also scoping the bar for anyone seeming familiar, but Mal waves a hand in dismissal.

"Sir," Zoe offers in response to this, "You sure you don't want to---?"

"Go," is the more assertive cutoff. "Go get yourselves a nice romantic meal." Apparently this is more than enough motivation for Wash, who leads Zoe away from Mal and Jayne.

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"Lovely shirt you've got there," says a voice behind him. "Is those . . . chevrons?"

And another: "I do believe you's right, Fanty. Very distinguished."

An exaggerated eyeroll in Jayne's direction finds Mal turning around to face a set of twins, nearly indistinguishable except for slight differences in dress and smirk.

"Fanty," Mal greets one. "Mingo."

"He's Mingo," says Mingo, pointing helpfully.

Fanty nods.

"He's Fanty," Mal corrects, pointing to the correct twin. "You're Mingo."

Mal has a distinct air of having won many rounds of Shells at a young age.

Their identical faces say, Aww, fuck you, man.

Mingo mutters something. Then he squints, and adds, "How is it you always know?"

Mal gives Mingo a sneer that suits his mood. "Fanty's prettier."

It actually has to do with Mingo's voice being just a bit higher pitched. But Mal'll never tell.

Mal shoots a glance over to the table behind one of the fan dancers in the center of the bar. "Feel to do some business?"

Fanty's smirk edges further into smug territory; Mingo sneers back at Mal.

Together they head for a nearby table, and a few bits from Fanty get a dancer and her large fan between them and one particular bit of wall. Security cameras isn't so conducive to conducting business, don't you know.

Mal and Jayne sit opposite the twins around a stand holding four glasses filling themselves from the central spout with something that is absolutely not healthful at all in the way of liquor.

Without saying a word, Mal goes to pick up his cup while sliding an inconspicuous black bag to Mingo's foot on the other side of the table.

Tastes nice, though. If your throat's made of titanium.

Mingo's foot helps the bag along, inconspiciously. "Quite a crew you've got, too," he observes.

Zoe's hot.

Mal sighs. More talking.

"Yeah. They're a fine bunch o' reubens."

Move *on*, already.

Patience, Malcolm, patience.

Mingo's got plenty of patience. "How you keep them on that crap boat of yours is the subject of much musing between myself and Fanty."

"We go on and on," Fanty agrees.

"So i'm noticing. Is there a problem I don't know of? You got 25 percent of a sweet take kissing your foot, how come we're not dispersing?"

Fanty and Mingo exchange looks.

They're very disappointed in Mal, say their expressions. Thought he could do math better than this.

Special math.

"Our end is forty, precious," says Fanty.

No, he is not a fan of Lord of the Rings. He'd be a fan of Gollum if he were, though.

Jayne gives an indignant sort of sound, decreeing, "My muscular buttocks it's forty --"

Mal feels like he should keep him calm. But that would require Mal to be calm, so.

Mingo and Fanty are calm. Very calm.

But not so cheerful anymore. "It is as of now." Mingo's smile might just be greasier than Kaylee. "Find anyone around going cheaper --"

"Find anyone around going near a sorry lot like you in the first instance," Fanty mutters.

Beaumonde is the kind of place that gets described by distant authorities with phrases like "pit of vice" and "vulgar and tacky." The local authorities don't really describe it; they focus more on perfecting their extortion skills. In a word, it's flashy -- full of glitter and rhinestone glitz, temporary booths and seedy bars, crowds looking to buy just about anything for the right price.

It's fascinating.

River lost Simon a little way back, in one of those crowds. She hasn't noticed yet. There's an iguana in a cage outside; there are dancers in skimpy sequins with more shimmy than style; there are neon signs and shuttlecraft and a hundred languages shouted back and forth.

And, here, there's an open door, and people she knows inside, tucked behind a fan-dancer as they negotiate. The smell of alcohol and leather and smoke, and wall-mounted vid screens flashing. River picks her way down the spiral staircase, looking around with interest.

Mingo and Fanty settle back against their hanging bench, exchanging looks.

"You're unpredictable, Mal." Fanty favors him with a pitying smile. "Which is the worst thing to be in this business. Mingo and me, we's greedy. Could set your watch by our greed; it wavers never. But you -- you run when you ought to fight, fight when you ought to deal."

"Makes a business person twitchy."

Mingo's shaking his head in sorrowful agreement. "Adding in the fact that your ship's older than the starting point of time and you can see you's charity cases to the likes of us."

Their smile are shark's smiles.

"Well here's a foul thought." Mal stares straight at Mingo, then Fanty in turn. "I conjured you two were incompetent; sent us out not knowing there were Reavers about. Now I'm thinking you picked us out because you did."

Mal's gun hand itches. A little.

Mingo's eyes narrow. "That were a sign of faith, boy." The playful regret is leaving his voice; what remains is contempt. "And it doesn't affect our 40 per."

Still smiling, he leans forward. "Danger is, after all, your business."

River's attention is caught by the flashing vid screen. It's a Fruity Oaty Bar commercial, with singing cartoon girls and a purple octopus.

"Fruity Oaty Bars, pow!"

Caught, and held.

It's color and light, it's purple and flashing, and it's

"Hey! Fruity Bars"

it's everything she can hear

"Make a man of a mouse!"

everything she can see

"Make you bust out of your blouse!"
(We seek for slumbering trout)
There are colors and numbers and patterns just below the surface, drawing her eye, drawing her mind --
(and whispering in their ears)
"Eat them now!"
(give them unquiet dreams)
-- and she shoots with her mind, Roland's gravelly voice we are weapons and Cort's growl as much as our guns and Cuthbert and now Mal and all the voices --
(Leaning softly out)
"Bang! Ping! Zow!"

Voices.

There are no voices.

There is

nothing

but
(Away with us he's going)
faces.
(The solemn-eyed)
Everywhere. Turning to her. Looking. Whispering.
(Come away, O human child)
Bleached and stark and clear and moving so slowly, so slowly, they think they're fast but she can see them, she can follow, they think she can't but she can, and she can see--
(to the waters)
The men in the corner have
(and the wild)
(two by two)
(with a faery)
hands of blue, and
(hand in hand)
flash the man behind the bar has the gaping self-inflicted wounds of a Reaver, he's growling inside his head flash he's dialing up Simon's arrest warrant to make a call to the feds, and
(For the world's more full of weeping)
everyone is no one is faces she's never seen but they're planning, they're made of careful plotting malice, they want to kill Simon and hurt Kaylee and chain Anthy in a room full of needle-sharp swords and she won't let them, she won't have it, she won't let them--
(than you can understand)

"Miranda," she whispers.

River moves.

Mal had gotten used to the fans beside him being constantly on the move. Thus is why, when they stop because of a wide array of crash noises coming from the other side of the dancer, Mal pushes one of the fans back.

Jayne starts, excited, "Hey! A tussle."

"Jayne," Mal interrupts, rather quietly.

The tussle involves River.

River kicking the asses off of everybody in the gorram bar.

This is not especially conducive to doing business, either.

For a moment they just stare. Girl can't be more than 90 pounds wet, but there's Rocco down, and Medium Dave, and that was an impressive kick; there's Lanlan sailing through -- wo tiantian de qiaokeli yesu a! -- the air straight toward them.

Mingo jerks the bag up into his lap, cradling it protectively, and stares.

Fanty clears his throat.

"Do you know that girl?"

Mal can't take his eyes off of her. She looks so
graceful
dangerous.

"I really don't."

Snapping out of it, Mal thwaps Jayne in the chest and juts a thumb toward River.

Mal needs to get his gun.

It's not like before; she's not just a weapon, mindless with conditioning. That block was broken.

She sees, and she

(Bang!)

hears, and she

(Pow!)

thinks, and what she sees and hears and thinks and is is

spinning backfist, fist twists and uncurls to catch the collar, two men coming up fast behind -- pull one man into another, kick the third with his own running momentum behind the impact -- duck a punch and throw him over her hip (it's all leverage, it's all mathematics, vectors and angles and calculate the force) into the bar and the next target coming and leap for the stairs, high ground and hands catching the railing at just the instant to put all her weight behind the flying kick and two more tumble and that was a skull cracking there, means he won't get up again, keep moving

they won't win. They won't hurt SimonKayleeMalAnthyRolandMavisMaggie they won't because she won't let them --

We deal with it where we may.

No prisoners.

Jayne's up instantly, firstly, well, because, tussle. Secondly, he got his marching orders. And as much as he and Mal got their differences, marching orders are marching orders.

Duck--

Dang, she's fast.

Shift your weight, good thing eats've been slow comin' lately what with the lack of employment; that extra ten pounds would've meant a broke brainpan right about now--

River bends impossibly, leg high, head low, and the last man between them falls, and Jayne catches her--

"Gorram it, girl, it's me."

Arms around her, too strong to pull free -- her arm slashes down, edge of the hand connecting in a solid knife-edge strike to the groin. The man's
(to and fro we leap)
(it's me)
(and chase the frothy bubbles)
arms loosen (the faint faraway sound of a whimper in her ear) but it's not quite enough --
(while the world is full of troubles)
She twists in his hold,
(and anxious in its sleep)
(gorram it, girl)

elbow flying up, it's all leverage, it's all mathematics, a hard strike here and a kick there and he's down and there's the solid weight of a gun in her hand and
(with a faery)
(it's me)
(hand in hand)
and River...
(come)
(it's ME)
(come)
River...
(COME)
(it's ME)

falters.

Finds herself staring down at... Jayne.

Jayne is on the floor, clutching his man-parts in one hand and covering his head with another.

When he doesn't die, he peeks an eye through his fingers.

Mal, with a great and powerful will, climbs the stairs as fast as possible, spinning the gun check and fishing out the key card for it.

Mal doesn't want to shoot her, but he would if he had to.

You're a part o' my crew.

River stares down at Jayne.

Her head snaps up, to focus on Mal, as the gun check box rattles open.

Bewildered.

The gun is still in her hand, held loosely and half-forgotten.

She's surrounded by bodies. On the floor, draped over the bar, under tables, slumped on the stairs. Some of them are groaning and beginning to stir.

Some of them aren't.

Mal has his gun back. He doesn't hesitate to scope the bar for River, before she kills anyone else.

Bullet in the brainpan squish

Bwah.

River's gun is pointed... down. She doesn't seem to be aware of it.

She stares at Mal. She's not afraid, or at least not of him.

She's starting to shake.

Jayne ain't afraid of nothin'. Nohow.

'Cept the gun that is currently pointed in the general direction of his kneecap.

He essays a gentle tone. Don't really work much.

"H-hey. You mind givin' me that gorram boom-stick you got, River?"

River's lowering her gun, so Mal lowers his, holsters it, and races to where River has a gun accidentally? pointed at Jayne.

Mal stops about a yard and a half ahead of River and holds out his hand expectantly, with just a dash of hope.

Shaking harder, now.

"Mal...?"

A glance at Jayne, halfway between confused and horrified, and then back at Mal.

Her fingers have loosened on the gun, and the barrel drifts, the target moving from Jayne's kneecap to his shin.

Very carefully, Jayne sidles away from the gun.

Now it's pointing at his toes.

"Just give the Cap'n the gun, girlie."

Just one...more...second.

Mal leans forward quickly and takes the gun from River's hand, easing the safety back on and tucking it with one hand at the small of his back.

He doesn't attempt to touch River, to guide her away, but he is standing closer to her at the moment.

"Mal?"

She barely notices the gun being wrenched from her grasp.

"Mal, I didn't--"

A swift glance at Jayne, and back. Tears are standing in her eyes.

"They changed, the faces weren't mine -- oh God, I can hear them --"

"Shhh," Mal offers quietly, quickly. They really did need to leave.

An arm around the shoulder, strong and guiding. "We gotta go, lil' one."

Some of the ones that were moving have progressed to the attempts of getting off the floor.

"What, no hand up for the injured?" Jayne snorts and stumbles to his feet.

"If I can't get my johnson workin' right after this, Stabby, I'm comin' after you."

River's eyes are closed. A tear leaks out, then another. She's trembling.

She doesn't give any sign that she's heard Jayne.

A stumbling step, and another; on the third, she nearly trips over a sprawled body. All her usual grace is gone.

Her lips shape an occasional word, but nothing is audible.

A sigh escapes him, and with a soft whoosh Mal picks up River in one sweep.

...You find someone to carry you.

Mal starts up the stairs with Jayne alongside and River in his arms, making good time before any outside security patrols venture inside.

Mingo and Fanty are scuttling away.

". . . n't know."

"Just get the fuck out of here. Tamade. Mucked it up all; she's crazy truly."

"Well." Smug again. "Good to know at least I's got a more aesthetically pleasing mug than you have."

"Fanty."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

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Beaumonde, Maidenhead Bar.

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