donkey's diary

Escape to Wisconsin: Field Guide

2011-05-16T18:29:28Z

Q: What kind of tree is that?

A: Box elder.

Q: I saw a bird--

A: Grackle.

Q: Bigger.

A: Canada goose, then.

Q: No, no-- bigger. It looked like a deer grazing in the fields. I was afraid it would run in front of my car.

A: Sandhill crane.

Q: Oh, okay. How can I identify an actual deer?

A: Identify it by its height-- above your knee at the shoulder and not a bird.

Q: Why, what's below my knee at the shoulder?

A: Raccoon.

Q: Okay but I saw something friendly that was below my knee, too.

A: Below the knee and friendly equals barn cat.

Q: What about above the knee?

A: Above the knee and unfriendly: Angus bull.

Q: Got it! Now I'm going fishing in Wisconsin.

A: Excellent.

Q: I got a bite.

A: Did you catch anything?

Q: No.

A: That was a perch. They're good eating.

Q: Now I caught something.

A: Fat or thin?

Q: Obscenely fat.

A: Bullhead!

Q: And if it had been thin?

A: Either a bluegill or a weed.

Enjoy your summer in our beautiful state.

World's Shortest Again: Sherlock

2011-05-06T20:07:03Z

SHERLOCK: You're right! That was fantastic.

JOHN: Is this about yesterday, or the time before?

SHERLOCK: Two days ago. When I slammed you against the wall and you tore my clothes off.

JOHN: Yes, quite. It was fantastic. I believe I said so at the time.

SHERLOCK: How did you do that?

JOHN: Do what?

SHERLOCK: How did you seem to just know? It's almost frightening. As if, damn... As if you don't have to think about it at all.

Justice All Night Part One

2011-03-17T01:57:50Z

Justice All Night

A Tales of the Starbuck Avenger!!! fan fiction
by Feech

"On September 11th, 2009, the invasive spiny water flea (Bythotrephes longimanus) was discovered by the limnology class at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, making it the third known inland lake to harbor this species in Wisconsin."
--Wikipedia entry on Lake Mendota

"So teh speike s culd be released and liek flye trhourh the air. It was a shiney black amsbinomation. Which it was like farmiliar crazey scaryu to Tricia AKA THE STARBUCK AVENGER becaze she had a rtaormatic expreience from berfrore like in my pervious story. But she said bralvely, Brign it on Bitch. Okay."
--The Laek Abdomniation (tentative title), work in progress, proofread pending. By Bruce Carmichael

***

"Let's hella fight crime and do justice all night and have a cuppa coffee in my Starbucks before it opens."

I was on the phone, talking to Mebby, aka The Corpseflower. Opening your story with dialogue is one way to, like, give it some "punch".

"I will dig you down at tha lake shore. Crime buzzin on that front."

"Serously? Crime? Crime we can fight? What's the skinny?"

"Tha Bible preaches it out like thi-- is. Dingo Gang is hell of back in town. Starbuck Avenger."

I alertly inquired into the situation 'n' shit. "Who the fuck are the Dingo Gang?"

"Basically it is not a are but a is," said Mebby. "That is tha v-- villain's name."

"You can explain it to me when we get there," I answered, all raring to go. I had a brand new pair of sweat socks and when they're all brand new like that, when they haven't even formed to your big toe and they fit without any wrinkles, your feet feel hella heroically smooth inside your track shoes and you're fit to fight some serious crimes. My tiara could have used a little buffing or maybe a re-paint with silver spray paint, but I was kinda warming to its beat-up old flair and I imagined it looking gritty and heroic under streetlamps when we patrolled Madison overnight. A beat-up tiara might look more intimidating than just a normal shiny new one, I thought. You know, the way guys in movies look tougher with scars. You don't mess with the guy with the scar, Dude. Which never made much sense really because the guys with the scars are kinda losers of some kinda fight at some point, right?

"Dogg. I would with your permission lay a question on you."

"Sure. Shoot."

Silence totally fell upon the phone line. I had learned by now to keep my mouth shut while this went on, but let me tell you something, folks, it was difficult for me. I knew that, on the other end, Mebby was waiting, like a kid watching double jump ropes whipping around crazy fast, for a break in an extended stutter where she could jump in and say a word without getting smacked upside the head by the rope, which is metaphorical. The hard part is that I am a chatterer. I chat. I also fill silences not because I don't like silence (I totally, like, do) but because I can usually think of something to say even if it turns out to be stupid later. I waited in suspense, humming the theme song from Night Court in my head to avoid from talking out loud, until Mebby leapt into her next sentence with a triumphant, solemn public radio voice, slipping a relieved word in edgewise on herself.

"Cat I know from tha internet and have dug a few blacks downtown desires to latch a glim on your fine self. C--- can he meet us in the brightenin'."

"Sure, fine, bring a friend." I was so relieved to be talking again I added, "Coffee's on me."

"Check that." Mebby hung up.

I dashed out the door of my apartment into the dingy hall, weilding my fiberglass javelin, then dashed out the next door into the blue twilight. Then I dashed back in through each door, thinking, as usual, that I should really work up a pre-heroing checklist or something. I grabbed my work apron and flung it over my back. I curled my comfortable toes in their shiny new wrinkle-free cotton blend socks, looked at myself in the mirror one more time, straightened my tiara, and totally took off for some great justice by the lake shore.

***

Horror in the Cornfield

fanfitcion copyright by Bruce Carmichael except the superheroes are copyright by there corprate owenrs.
Work in Progresis feed back welcome
I'm planning on shwoing this to (*PEOPLE who appear in it* so i want to make it one of my best so far

Okay so. When we last left off Patricia Hocking had been in he Absolvatrons laer, which was it looked like a meperment situation. However. Mebweth Hull aka THE CORPSEFLOWER (I have acktuly seen this plant folks rally true story it is on display in the University were I have to go for my job sometiems!!) anyway the Absolvatron... had in mind to lur Jarrod Stokes aka HAWKHEAD... to his dungin for confession...

Mebweth was traking Patricia that is STARBUCK AVENGER to his laer. n she foudn Patricia there and unshajkled her wreists and feet.

Oh my God Mebweth it is so good to see you you have no idea.

Yes yes,. said Mebweth that is CORPSEFLOWEr trie to be calm now. IT is the way of The TURE hero to be calm in all sitruations even if she is attached sto stone walls it is ok, now, I need, you to hep me so you have to come with me I have did tracked you here.

"WellOkay," said Tricia... often Mebweth called Patricia Tricia... because they were entimate friends do to fighting super villians together.

Mebweth that is Corpseflower has not been discribed very much on this forums so I wanted to take a monite and do that.

Mebweth aka Corpseflower is leik a gothy Chick but she knowes cool Shaft liek slang. Also she has a litlle pouty mouth and she can talke to plants. Plus she wars pure gold jewly in the shape on ivy leafs.
Tricia is basiclalyy my fave super hero... so I want to go to what she looks like too though we all now but can't have enough of it righet???????

Reight. on. Yeah she has long bronw hair yet it glows gold when her form is turned to look lieke STARBUCK AVENGER. She has been homecoming Queen of her school and I here it is right here in WISCONSIN... whatis her hisgh school I mean

fuck sory for all the typoes folls I will clean it up fproofereads welcome I will trade proeforeads.

Anyway yeh... Tricia I mean Patricia Hocking might be from here in Wuisconsin in that case I think she is from RIO so can we put that in th canonplz.

Tricia has perfect breasts and wares formfitting uniform from Starbucks and as we all know her starbucks Logo grows brightly when she is STARBUCK Avenger. Also... her feet are very ladlylike.

You know the Rio ladies sports teams are called Lady vikings perhaps there is a story in that.

So Our two heroines left Absolvatrons laer but it was not that easy .for .l think working for Absolvatron now is MUSKRAT has that been agreed uopon.??

Or is he a supervillain now or what?

And what was with the lake monster did anyone deciede about that? I havent read all of Tony Z. 's and Harold aka GRUNGEDOG that is on our own foreum ... I havent read all there latest stuff so I dont want to get in cofncusion so it anyone has read it please wiegh in plz.

Okay... MUSKRAT met Mebweth and Patricia at the church grate that was the opening to Absolvatrons laer.

Where do you ladies thing you are going?? He asked in his so sppooky creepy squeaky voice.

"Well we think we are leaving, " said Mebweth that is Corpseflower. "what do you think jive turkey."

"Wate a minute aretn you the one who talks to plants" said Muskrat.

poitenting a claw

Yep said Mebweth aka Corpseflower

I have a job for you. said Muskrat. Conme with me.

***

Okay, so, Lake Mendota. The Capitol was there, across the water, white as a moon. This time of evening, before it was fully dark, the shine on it looked like jewelry. Mebby, a-k-a The Corpseflower, was standing on the shore, cape lapping to the side like the little waves that rolled evenly in and ducked under themselves at the lakeside. I swept up behind her, coming alongside in the grass that had already curled up and turned dry for autumn; using a semi-colon to clarify that it was me and not the grass doing the gripping, I gripped a hem of my cape-apron and gazed out over the twilight reflection on the water. It was totally a legitimate heroine meet-up stance I had taken. Look on my countenance in profile a minute, if you would. Then I have to itch my nose.

How to Write Supernatural Fan Fiction

2010-11-18T18:50:02Z

In minutes. Amaze your friends.

***

Basic Elements:

Dean gets one expression:
1) Unsure

Sam gets two:
1) Steadfastly expectant
2) Irritated

Sam uses expressions in place of dialogue.

Dean gets dialogue as follows: "Sam!?"

What Sam did just before Dean engages in dialogue can be selected at random from the following new, expanded Basic list:

1) Sam has been abducted by a:
a) ghost
b) monster
c) human being

2) Sam is out of Dean's sight because:
a) Sam stepped into the next room.
b) Dean is reading in bed and does not wish to look up to see whether Sam is at the foot of the bed.

3) Sam is enjoying himself
a) in Dean's vicinity
b) across town
c) across the country
d) on another planet
and will be strategically interrupted by Dean whether Dean is consciously aware of this or not.

***

Advanced class:

Obviously, you can write a Supernatural fan fiction using only Sam and Dean or, if desired, just Dean, with Sam offscreen while Dean calls his name. However, if you wish to flesh out your world with additional characters, there are 3 basic categories of supporting cast:

1) Monsters
2) People who know something about the monsters and:
a) aren't friends of the Winchesters
b) are friends of the Winchesters, and therefore have been clearcut with the rest of the cast in the previous season, allowing you to try your hand at alternate reality fiction in which they are still alive.
3) Everyone else

Dialogue for additional characters:

Monsters: Anything goes. Select a phrase they like to repeat, or they can just say "rar".

People who know something about the monsters and aren't friends of the Winchesters:
"Why, Dean Winchester. Now here's what we'll do."

People who know something about the monsters and are friends of the Winchesters:
"Hi, Dean. Nice to see you. Now here's what we'll do."

Everyone else:
"You're not cops."

***

Dean's unsure expression can be infused with the following subtelties:

a) You think this is as awesome as I think it is?
b) You don't think this is as awesome as I do.
c) This isn't awesome at all!
d) Damnit.
e) That was pretty awesome, though, right?

Sam's expressions can be accented with a verbal scoff. This is in the Advanced category due to the tendency for the technique to become heavy-handed. Sam's expressions alone have the power to destroy whole cities.

If, in addition to coding Dean's dialogue as bold, you also use italics, the following option is added to Sam's activities:

3B) Cross-dressing.

***

Basic Examples:

Sam Winchester's expression was steadfast and expectant. His brother paused, unsure, then relented and handed Sam the last chicken wing.

The End

***

Dean turned around quickly. "Sam?!"

The End

***

Advanced Examples:

"Why, Dean Winchester. Now, here's what we'll do."

Sam looked irritated. He scoffed.

The End

***

"Sam?!"

The End

Seeley Booth Talks With the Devil

2010-11-11T22:36:02Z

Yo Jeff, you can slot this right in between "Baggage" and "Help Me" (House episodes). It's going to take until the beginning of Season six Bones for them to catch up to this specific instance, since they have a lot of ground to cover. I could tell from Sweets on the disc we were on in conjunction with House that he hadn't got here yet. So we'll catch that on DVD. These conversations take place after the story I told you about, have notes for, but haven't written. Title by Booth because Feech's idea was stupid and boring.

To anyone else who happens to be reading: We don't have TV hooked up at our house. We use DVDs to watch the previous seasons. :)

***

SWEETS: Dr. Wilson, can I just--

WILSON: No.

(Door slams)

***

(Soft rap at James Wilson's office door. Booth sticks his head in.)

BOOTH: Okay if I come in?

WILSON: Booth. Yeah. Of course.

BOOTH: So, um, Sweets says you won't talk to him.

WILSON: I didn't bring him in to psychoanalyze me.

BOOTH: Mind if I sit?

WILSON: Be my guest.

BOOTH: He can be kind of-- useful. Try him.

WILSON: Hm. This from the man who told me that Lance Sweets was a, and I quote, "Geek nerdboy gamer drone who couldn't psychologize his way out of a wet paper bag." Oh, and that "maybe he should come back when he's gone through puberty."

BOOTH: He might have slightly gone through puberty since then.

WILSON: (Lifting eyes from paperwork to give appraising look from under eyebrows) Anyway I didn't refuse to talk to Sweets. I refused to have a session with him.

BOOTH: You know, that historical quote you gave kind of out of context is just my usual kneejerk reaction to sad little gamer geek nerdboys. He's alright, you know, my little boy thinks he's just the best. They kill fake people in Mortal Kombat together. Parker's one of the best.

WILSON: A session with a therapist is for a person with a problem. Or a person who needs watching, like you.

BOOTH: That's just it. We all think you could use a little watching.

WILSON: "We all"? Is this an intervention?

BOOTH: We just couldn't all get here at the same time.

WILSON: (Giving up on paperwork) Lay it on me. Who's "we"?

BOOTH: Angela. Hodgins. Sweets. Cam.

WILSON: Cam? I'm gonna kill her.

BOOTH: House. And me. Chase thinks you're fine.

WILSON: I don't have a problem. I'm just very busy with my job.

BOOTH: Yeah, about that. Your oncolologist job. It seems to be kind of getting in the way of real people and events. I don't know if you noticed, but Bones got like a ten million dollar advance--

WILSON: (Shakes head) Angela has some nerve thinking I have a problem... She's the one who was in here showing around a photograph, trying to solicit donations to save a piglet. I think Cuddy gave her a sack of gold or something. I'm the only sane one left.

BOOTH: Angela's been seen with Wendell Bray, so maybe that will take care of itself.

WILSON: Who's Wendell Bray?

BOOTH: A squintern. I mean an intern. Seriously, you don't know who all is on staff at the Jeffersonian? But like I said. A ten million dollar advance on Bones's book. She said she'll never have to work again. Do you think that's a good idea?

WILSON: What? No, I don't think that's good for anything. You must be exaggerating.

BOOTH: I'm not sure of the exact numbers, but I ain't exaggerating, alright?

WILSON: Has she considered not working?

BOOTH: Of course not. But don't you think you should know these things? And speaking of Wendell, the guy you don't know, Jack Hodgins wants you to let Wendell have his job. He thinks if you're this scatterbrained he can't be your right-hand man anymore in the Jeffersonian. And he wants Zack to get a pass for work.

WILSON: No. You know I can't do that. And if he wants me to replace him, he should be here himself talking to me about it.

BOOTH: About that, he's in a deep blue funk.

WILSON: Because of Angela?

BOOTH: Nope. No, not at all. Because Jack Hodgins has been talking to the Fates and he is very very concerned about you.

WILSON: I was talking to the Fates this morning and they didn't say anything of the sort. Well. I wasn't talking-- I picked up some mail from them. I guess I haven't seen them in a couple weeks. Cuddy handles all the cases for House lately...

BOOTH: Have you ever been incarnate? Where's your guardian angel? You must have one, right?

WILSON: (Passes a hand over his forehead) I don't know where he is. You've mentioned everyone except Temperance. What does she think?

BOOTH: That's what I'm here about. Bones thinks you're the Lord of the Underworld and you've been fallen a long time and surely you must know what you're doing. That's what she said: "He must know what he's doing."

WILSON: There was some concern expressed?

BOOTH: Well, I said to her, "Don't you think this is getting--" (Stops, uncomfortable)

WILSON: I'm not going to smite you. God smites. I torment. Go on.

BOOTH: What I told her was, "Don't you think this is getting -- getting a little out of hand? Are you really being got ready for your incarnation?" And she said, "I'm sure I am." See, Wilson, my life on Earth was really important to me. I want Tempe to have one, and have a good one.

WILSON: I want that for her, too. Have you slept with her?

BOOTH: No. Of course not.

WILSON: Why "of course not"?

BOOTH: W-- well, you told me to. So obviously I didn't.

WILSON: I suggested you do so. As friendly advice.

BOOTH: Wilson, look. I was raised Catholic. I am a Catholic. One thing I learned. One thing I was taught pretty consistently growing up is that the Prince of Darkness does not give friendly advice. The Prince of Darkness is not anybody's friend. You know what's creepy? I'm sitting in this office with stale air and a regular doctor in a regular white doctor coat. But when I woke up in Hell it was all booming voice and creepy swimmy black background and "none of this will look the same tomorrow" or something like that. How do I know that's not the real you?

WILSON: (Smiles) That's the hardest part for the Catholics: the paradigm shift. But it's no skin off my nose. You can use all the Catholic support centers or churches or whatever you want in Hell. But it was friendly advice. And you can relax about the welcome speech. Everyone gets the same one.

BOOTH: Don't confuse me.

WILSON: Get me behind thee?

BOOTH: Yeah. My medal backs that up. Chase gave me a Saint Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows one just to wear here.

WILSON: Look, I copied that amplified voice and welcome speech from The Black-Eyed Peas' The E.N.D.. It's true and it's artful. I take on the form I'm going to be in for your contract after you get the greeting. This is just the form for House, right now. You know that.

BOOTH: Wait. That was an album introduction?

WILSON: I'm not a creative writer. You buy prewritten greeting cards, don't you?

BOOTH: But about my point.

WILSON: I doubt somehow that House cared one way or the other about Dr. Brennan's latest bestseller. If he had some intrigue to play with about it, he'd have brought it to me himself. So what's he doing in your little cabal?

BOOTH: Well, number one, you seem to have forgotten where the Box begins and ends.

WILSON: I have not.

BOOTH: Last time we saw House, you had to let him out. In fact you were right behind him.

WILSON: You were all yanking my chain.

BOOTH: But this time... I mean lately... I mean, he doesn't have passes, does he?

WILSON: Maybe he's forging them over the old one.

BOOTH: I think you're being flip. Sweets said he wanted to talk to you in the first place--

WILSON: Have a session with me--

BOOTH: Sweets and House went out for cigars and amaretto and poker--

WILSON: Why wasn't I invited?

BOOTH: And House told him...

WILSON: (Wary eyebrow raise) He told stories.

BOOTH: I think Sweets knows a good story, coming from House.

WILSON: So what happened.

BOOTH: House said to Sweets that one of the Jersey minotaurs married a Box character. And you didn't even know about it. And then she turned real and the change from her programming or whatever you call it to being a real person started eating her brain--

WILSON: No it didn't. Couldn't happen.

BOOTH: Sorry, Satan, it could and did. They thought at first it was mad cow or something.

WILSON: Mad cow?

BOOTH: Well some big word that sounds like mad cow. And House was going to make a crack about how she caught it from her husband because he's a bull minotaur, but then House realized, the minotaur didn't realize his wife wasn't real to begin with.

WILSON: Bullshit. So to speak.

BOOTH: Look, I didn't know anything about it, but it seems like everyone but you-- well, I mean, and me, because I can never tell the difference between Princeton-Plainsboro and everywhere else--

WILSON: That's the way it ought to be. It is a perfect replica.

BOOTH: Yeah but everyone else knows it's not real.

WILSON: Did someone tell Cuddy?

BOOTH: Not that I know of.

WILSON: Well, see that you don't. Okay, go on.

BOOTH: Everything's breaking down around you. Well, us. Well, you're supposed to be doing your job. Even the guy with the wife with mad-cow-only-not said he didn't even have Princeton-Plainsboro on his list to call when his wife went missing. When she lost her memory. He knew this place wasn't real, but House realized the guy didn't even associate his wife with it. The minotaur thought his wife was real originally. Your Box and everywhere real in Hell have merged.

WILSON: Only a little.

BOOTH: This is what Sweets thought you'd take better from me than from him.

WILSON: He's right.

BOOTH: Why?

WILSON: You're the least self-absorbed person I know.

BOOTH: (Surprised pause) Seriously?

WILSON: Mmyep.

BOOTH: (Shrugs it off) So. Bones. Wilson, you might as well send her up now. It makes no sense to keep her here. Not with her education slipping through the cracks and crazy amounts of money from publishers. She'd advance faster there.

WILSON: Alright. I'll talk to Sweets.

BOOTH: Thank you.

(Booth gets up, hesitates. Hand on the doorknob. Embarrassed and unsure.)

BOOTH: Would you give me a blessing before I leave? The last one is wearing off and I feel kind of naked without it.

WILSON: Of course.

(Wilson reaches to give Booth a kiss on the forehead and Booth bends to receive it, fingering his Saint medal at the same time. Wilson presses the spot with his thumb, then pats Booth on the shoulder.)

BOOTH: Thank you.

WILSON: (Loving) Now go away.

***

SWEETS: Dr. Wilson. Have a seat.

WILSON: I'll stand. This doesn't have to take long. I just want to get a brief eval of Temperance Brennan.

SWEETS: Certainly. Do you believe Samantha can love you?

WILSON: (Drops heavily into chair) Booth said you've been talking to House.

SWEETS: (Tips head and waits)

WILSON: No. I know she can't.

SWEETS: Because she's a soulless harpy.

WILSON: A charming, smart, well-put-together soulless harpy. We have a lot in common, we-- almost-- get along.

SWEETS: I'm not in the least trying to disparage her or your relationship. Do you agree I'm telling it like it is?

WILSON: Of course.

SWEETS: So, you've asked House to move out, so Samantha can move in. But why partner with someone who can't love you? I understand that you and Samantha have a history. Is there any reason-- besides that-- for choosing someone who, while totally charming, can't give you love in return for yours?

WILSON: I'm not looking for reciprocation.

SWEETS: Sure, no, okay, of course not, but beyond that. It's a relationship.

WILSON: Nobody in Hell can love me. Might as well-- okay, Samantha is someone who is worthy of choosing, don't get me wrong. But in response to your discussion question, might as well move in with one as another. But Samantha is special.

SWEETS: Of course. What do you mean, "Nobody in Hell can love me"?

WILSON: Lance! I'm the Devil.

SWEETS: (Anticipatory headshake)

WILSON: Everyone here is under contract to me!

SWEETS: Broadly generalizing, perhaps. For instance...

WILSON: You're bound with someone else. Alright, except for you and... okay, broadly generalizing, true.

SWEETS: Aside from the fact that I am acting as a professional, does my contract to someone else other than you render me incapable of having genuine feelings towards you?

WILSON: Of course not. No.

SWEETS: Interesting. First you said no one in Hell can love you. Go back to that. Who can love you? If no one in Hell.

WILSON: Amber. Amber could.

SWEETS: Of course, I never had the pleasure.

WILSON: No you-- you didn't.

SWEETS: She was a...

WILSON: A pixie. Fae.

SWEETS: And why could she love you?

WILSON: What an odd way to put it. She-- she didn't-- she wasn't supposed to be here. She couldn't even get a contract. Her pass expired when she got fired. Fae aren't supposed to be here.

SWEETS: No, but-- aren't there a lot of fae? It seems to me Booth's people show up regularly.

WILSON: Those are Booth's people. Some are the Seeley royalty, his family or entourage. They have passes. Most of the fae here have been human, though. They incarnate, they can come to Hell. Amber--

SWEETS: Never incarnated.

WILSON: The Fates had to organize a death for her. We all knew it was coming, but-- that was the last person who could love me.

SWEETS: I'm puzzled.

WILSON: Sure you are.

SWEETS: No, I mean. Looking at a few of the species who aren't fae. Who don't need invitations. Who can come and go as they please... (Ticking off a few on fingers) Elementals, of all kinds if I'm not mistaken. A few gods and their minions. Familiars. Or-- why not date a serial revenant like myself? Not me, you understand. Just a serial revenant of some kind. The soulless harpy is the one person whom you know who is absolutely unable to love you as you are capable of loving. This says to me she's a safe choice.

WILSON: Safe?

SWEETS: You know for sure she can't give you what you're looking for in someone else. Amber's not the only one who could love you. You're afraid that one specific person who is contracted to you, who's under your thumb so to speak, can't love you. The suspense bothers you. If you knew for sure, you wouldn't need the refreshing knowledge you get from your relationship with Samantha.

WILSON: I do have knowledge. I know he cares. But I know he can't love me.

SWEETS: Wow. You don't even roll a saving throw against therapists, do you?

WILSON: This is why I don't come to see you.

SWEETS: No it's, it's nice for me. Sit back down.

WILSON: I suppose you think that I've let Princeton-Plainsboro deteriorate into regular Hell so that House will be loose, and I'll have let go... and he'll be able to feel genuinely towards me. However he might feel.

SWEETS: No. No, I don't think that at all. As I understand it, House is contracted to you for a certain number of lives. It doesn't matter, does it, where the lifesaving happens, according to what he signed?

WILSON: No, right. That's right.

SWEETS: So he's contracted to you no matter how much you let him go.

WILSON: Unless I let him out of it.

SWEETS: Out of the contract.

WILSON: Yes.

SWEETS: But then he'll leave.

WILSON: He's still alive. He can go back to Earth.

SWEETS: And you can't.

WILSON: Not without -- no.

SWEETS: But if you let him out of the contract, you'll know for sure what he feels or doesn't feel. Just as you do with Samantha. And you want very much to know for sure, or you wouldn't have let Samantha back into your life-- no matter how deserving she might be. You want that feeling of being secure in your knowledge. But you want to be sure before you let him out. Which, of course, you can't be, because you're convinced no one under contract to you can love you.

WILSON: So I'm a hopeless procrastinator, is that it? Is that why everything's gotten away on me?

SWEETS: I wouldn't say everything's gotten away. In fact, I think you're exaggerating the situation, yourself, because others have picked up on it and are worried about it. You don't really think it's gotten so out of hand. I think you just wanted to see what House would do.

WILSON: The first thing he did when he got damned was to have a one-night stand with a rogue angel who buried him alive afterwards.

SWEETS: So you boxed him up. It's perfectly understandable.

WILSON: You're going to have to drag the next part out of me. I'm way too easy.

SWEETS: (Challenged, tents fingers) Alright. So. You see that House is behaving admirably when let loose a little bit.

WILSON: Still not dishing.

SWEETS: I'm not done. You intend to take a big risk, yourself. Samantha, as we have established, is not a risk, so it's not in relation to her. You want to see if House can be a rock during a time when you might make a huge mistake. You intend to take a leap of faith.

WILSON: Look, can we just talk about Temperance Brennan?

SWEETS: I could put the rest in a sealed envelope and open it later publicly to see if I called it.

WILSON: You dare.

SWEETS: (Grins)

WILSON: (Smiles) Alright. So I'm curious.

SWEETS: What does the Devil do that takes Faith?

WILSON: Any devil, not just me?

SWEETS: Any devil. As long as he's in a position of authority... We know the breakdown didn't start consciously on your part.

WILSON: How do you know that?

SWEETS: If it had, it would have started from within the hospital. Instead it started with letting real people from the outside in. That's not the first thing you would have consciously done.

WILSON: Good call.

SWEETS: Suddenly awake to the fact of what was happening, you decided to use it to further something you didn't even know you were going to do until the veil rent in two. You turned your back, things changed a little, then you let them change. You wanted to see if House could be your believer and your support system. You need a believer with his intellect and who was still alive when he came here. It's not just for personal reasons that you've chosen him now, although you do love him.

WILSON: Are you working this out as you go along?

SWEETS: I never reveal whether I know things ahead of time or come up with them on the spur of the moment. My solution, however I arrived at it: You're going to try to be a doctor in a hospital you didn't design, one that isn't centered around House or rather around you. You're going into outer Hell the way a king goes in disguise amongst his subjects.

WILSON: Whoah, Scorpion. Time-out, right there.

SWEETS: (Grins warmly) So. Dr. Brennan.

WILSON: Dr. Brennan... Now that I've been gutted. Booth thinks I'm holding her back.

SWEETS: You can put your entrails back in. Things will work out.

WILSON: Are therapists supposed to say things like that?

SWEETS: I've been around. It's as professional as I can get with a friend in distress.

WILSON: I'm not in distress.

SWEETS: Of course.

WILSON: Temperance Brennan. I might have-- I might have let my observation of her slide a bit. And-- you know, what the heck. I've totally blown off House's torment, too. Plus I've put off throwing Booth another bone on his contract. He's going to see through me. I suck.

SWEETS: So what's the problem? What does Booth see in your actions that he thinks is inadequate for Tempe's advancement?

WILSON: I'm sure he's told you. Not paying enough attention. Making it too easy for her. Slacking off. Being mean for no good reason.

SWEETS: Does Temperance slack off?

WILSON: Of course not. But I'm not directing her.

SWEETS: What exactly do you want to get out of this evaluation?

WILSON: A shortcut. Do I send her up?

SWEETS: You forked over some dough for Angela's piglet, didn't you?

WILSON: That's out of nowhere. It was not her pig, it was a pig! I don't even know which pig it was. I-- gave her ten bucks. I guess it kind of makes up for my eating bacon. Although I'm not sure I feel karmically empowered. But as for Tempe... Do you think she's too involved in what she's doing? Stuck at one stage? Not progressing? And her attachments...

SWEETS: Did you know that Agent Booth calls her "Bones"?

WILSON: Yes. Quaint. You'd think, if he's going to focus so much on her djinn nature, he'd be the last one to think it's appropriate to send her up to Earth as a human. Is she progressing so quickly that it's hindering her to keep her in my jurisdiction? I-- sometimes it's hard to let go.

SWEETS: Booth wants the best for her. Life was good for him.

WILSON: No it wasn't. It was Hellish. If you'll pardon the expression.

SWEETS: James, Dr. Wilson... Booth valued life. That's why he's here.

WILSON: That's true.

SWEETS: But as for Dr. Brennan...

WILSON: What do you think?

SWEETS: You may not be ready to let go, but that is a different problem entirely. She is, like, totally not ready.

WILSON: I don't know enough to even discuss this. And I'm sorry.

SWEETS: Look. You'll know when Temperance is ready. She's not oblivious. She's not ignorant. When she's ready to go up-- or over, perhaps more properly speaking, she'll be dissatisfied. There's not a thing wrong with her being entirely engrossed in her work at the Jeffersonian. She'll show you by her restlessness when she's ready to move on. Then you can test her and know it's not just doing pointlessly mean things to her.

WILSON: She'll have to go to the Fringe.

SWEETS: I know. I can go with her, if you like.

WILSON: I wish you'd take Wendell, when you go.

SWEETS: Wendell?

WILSON: I looked into him. Booth told me his name, and I thought I hadn't heard of the Brays. But that's your veil name for him, isn't it. His family have extensive experience with the Fringe.

SWEETS: Well I -- wow. Sure. We'll-- if he thinks it's safe.

WILSON: It won't be safe. That's the point.

SWEETS: Wilson. Talk to Tempe.

WILSON: I already know she worships the ground I walk on. What's the point?

SWEETS: Go. If you think it wasn't worthwhile, come back.

WILSON: You can't lose, can you?

SWEETS: (Smiles)

***

WILSON: Dr. Brennan...

TEMPE: Oh, Wilson. Hi. Is there a problem?

WILSON: I know the last time I came in here there was a problem, but right now-- I won't keep you long-- I'm after a little talk to see what you think of my decisions regarding your "promotion". You're beginning to see things you couldn't see in the first stages.

TEMPE: I'm sure you're doing the right thing.

WILSON: You sound sure. And yet Booth, your constant companion, has expressed serious misgivings.

TEMPE: Oh. He's a Catholic. Don't get mad at him. He'll probably outgrow it. Or... develop beyond it, since he's already full-grown.

WILSON: He's not the only one. I've been informed that I'm worrying my friends. Apparently the only one on my side besides you is the other Catholic. And you don't mistrust me at all?

TEMPE: (Knits her brow) No.

WILSON: I didn't realize how out of hand this had gotten. Your books--

TEMPE: What about my books?

WILSON: Nothing. It's too late to change it now.

TEMPE: What would you want to change? Did I make a mistake?

WILSON: No you-- you're doing fine.

TEMPE: Because we can correct it in the next edition if you tell me what page.

WILSON: Dear--

(Wilson takes Tempe's chin. She puzzles at him, wide-eyed.)

WILSON: Just keep doing what you're doing.

TEMPE: Okay. Wilson-- I do wish, when I go up to Earth and incarnate as a human, that you could come and visit me sometimes.

WILSON: I'd like that.

TEMPE: Good because then I'd know someone on Earth.

WILSON: You'll be alright. I promise.

TEMPE: What if Booth could go with me? Don't you think that would be a nice idea?

WILSON: Booth doesn't want to go back to Earth. He wants to go home. Hasn't he talked to you about this?

TEMPE: Where's home?

WILSON: The fae courts. In faerie land. Where my Amber Volakis came from, only unlike Amber, Booth is Seeley. And fae royalty.

TEMPE: Yes-- I know he's a Seeley, but I don't know what that means.

WILSON: Booth wants to go back where the Seeley royalty, like he is, live. He's one of them, changed out with a human, and he's died and come here.

TEMPE: I know some of that. But-- couldn't I just go there instead of Earth?

WILSON: I thought you wanted to go to Earth. You're on the Earth track.

TEMPE: I did but-- are the fae courts like Earth?

WILSON: No.

TEMPE: I do. Want to go to Earth. I want to go where my simulation has prepared me to go.

WILSON: I know. Tempe... not everything about the Jeffersonian, even when you ask people to use their veil, is like Earth.

TEMPE: But you designed it perfectly.

WILSON: I designed it to be the way I want Earth to be for you. It's mostly Hell, with my fantasy laid over it. I'm very proud of it as such.

TEMPE: Wilson, beware of that. Pride is your biggest sin. And how am I supposed to learn what's important if it's part fantasy? Fantasy is never important.

WILSON: (Holds up a hand) Temperance, you can rest assured that regardless of what kind of simulation I've got worked out, and whether I'm there or not, no matter what situation you're in, the same things will always be true. And those will be the important things.

TEMPE: (Unsure) But how will I know which things those are? The accurate ones. The important things. I don't want to waste my time with any other kind.

WILSON: Today's piece of advice: waste your time.

TEMPE: Booth says you don't give people advice, you just lead them astray.

WILSON: I give advice. If they get led, it's up to them.

TEMPE: So if I waste my time, that's the wrong thing to do and I won't learn anything.

WILSON: On the contrary.

TEMPE: I know you're trying to be spiritual and lead me to something on my own, but I want you to just tell me.

WILSON: I'm going to lead you astray.

TEMPE: But even if Booth says so, I know you wouldn't do that to me.

WILSON: If I don't, then I will have failed. It's my specialty. A lot of people don't go to Earth from Hell, you know. You can start out from a whole lot of places.

TEMPE: Okay, I know logically you really don't want to lead me astray. And you certainly don't want to fail and you don't want me to fail for you, because you are very proud. Even if that vice is something you need to work on. So when you say I need to waste time and let you lead me astray, you must really mean the opposite.

WILSON: (Smiles) Eventually.

TEMPE: But I want to do it right.

WILSON: Don't worry.

TEMPE: I don't feel like I've gotten a lot out of this conversation. I'm sorry. I'll try harder so you can send me up sooner.

WILSON: You're way ahead of schedule.

TEMPE: But I'm proud, and I don't think excessively proud, that I've been on the fast track compared to a lot of your previous projects. I've been doing very well.

WILSON: Yes. You have.

TEMPE: But I might be interested in finding out more about Booth's native land.

WILSON: That's not my specialty, I'm afraid.

TEMPE: You're afraid, or you apologize?

WILSON: Both.

TEMPE: (Suddenly hugs Wilson) Don't be afraid.

WILSON: (Moved) We'll get an invitation and both go look at it, sometime.

TEMPE: Thank you. Thank you very much.

WILSON: I suppose we each have work to do.

TEMPE: Yes. But it's always good to see you, Wilson.

WILSON: I will make a practice of checking in more often.

TEMPE: I don't need checking up on. I'm very well behaved.

WILSON: Alright then. It'll just be social calls. And to check that your team is on the ball.

TEMPE: I'm sure they won't disappoint.

WILSON: I think they believe I'm the only one slacking.

TEMPE: Oh, no, you're very hard working.

WILSON: (Amused) Coming from anyone else, anywhere, that would be underhanded.

TEMPE: I don't know what that means in this context.

WILSON: Underhanded?

TEMPE: I meant what I said as a complimentary observation.

WILSON: Wherever you go after this, you'll be one of my greatest and dearest champions. I only hope that serves you.

TEMPE: (Pleased) We like each other, right?

WILSON: Yes. We like each other.

TEMPE: This is a long Midwestern good-bye, isn't it?

WILSON: Ah. Yes. It is.

TEMPE: Zack explained it to me. One of us has to leave now.

WILSON: I'll leave, you get back to work.

TEMPE: (Curls lip, showing a tooth, in delighted obedience) You got it.

(Wilson smiles. And lingers. Then leaves. Tempe isn't watching him; she's working)

***

(Shy knock at Wilson's door)

WILSON: Jack, I know it's you.

JACK: I just gotta see you. This is getting crazy.

WILSON: I know what I'm doing.

JACK: No, no you don't. The Fates can handle Box programs. But the ones that change over-- do you know who controls those?

WILSON: They can't change. Look, it shouldn't matter. When Booth came here on behalf of you all he pointed out something about Princeton-Plainsboro: he can't tell it apart from anywhere else. I have a healthily Satanic torment in mind that I came up with, involved with his not being able to know whether someone is real or not, even when he's met them. Booth will take care of it once I set it up.

JACK: Booth!? Man, Wilson, that's what I'm worried about. I want out. Give Wendell my job. I can't watch this.

WILSON: (Mild) Don't be ridiculous. Wendell won't take your job.

JACK: Somebody else, then. Give me a leave of absence.

WILSON: If you don't want to be here for a simple torment exercise, why don't you just break with me and go back to Earth?

JACK: You know why. I love it here. You're jeopardizing something I love. Stop it.

WILSON: You've seen me do at least two of the same template before. What could possibly go wrong this time? Booth gets dead for a third or fourth time, what of it? I'm going to test it on House, first.

JACK: This isn't the same. Booth isn't the same. Before you know what's happened, Booth will be out of his contract. And if you lose this one, you think you keep your spot?

WILSON: I can't believe you have so little faith in me.

JACK: I am deadly serious, Man.

WILSON: You really think they could overturn me for this.

JACK: I-- (Pauses. Stares at Wilson.) That's what you want to happen. Oh, my God.

WILSON: Dr. Hodgins, what do you think is best to do in this situation?

JACK: (Shakes head and exhales sharply) I hope you have somewhere warm and safe to run to, Buddy.

WILSON: There is no proof that any of this is going to happen the way you say it will.

JACK: I sense a "but" coming.

WILSON: But. If you see anything like what you expect to see, cling to the Jeffersonian. Just do what you do best. Guardian-style.

JACK: I... won't let go of it.

WILSON: Now you go. Go back to work. (Lifts a pen, spreads some papers over desk)

JACK: Paperwork? Satan? Dude, you're never getting out of that white coat again, are you? Can't say as I blame you, but I do like to shake it off on at least a daily basis, whether the lab jumpsuit goes with me or not.

WILSON: (Quietly flustered) Just go.

JACK: You've lost it.

WILSON: (Glares)

JACK: Pathetic.

WILSON: (Standing) Will you get out of my office before I get Foreman in here to shave your fucking mane.

JACK: (Pleased) Sure thing, Dude. I'm gone.

***

HOUSE: I came when called.

WILSON: Good boy. Have a malted milk ball.

HOUSE: Can I have two?

WILSON: No.

(House takes up bowl of malted milk balls and sits on Wilson's couch, shoveling in candies)

HOUSE: 'sup?

WILSON: You've noticed Princeton-Plainsboro and real geography are merging into each other.

HOUSE: And... bringing this up openly right out of the gate means you have something else to hide.

WILSON: That's me, Prince of Lies.

HOUSE: Your least-flattering title. You're bad at it, and lying does not become you. I'll ferret out what you're hiding, however. That's different.

WILSON: Do you know how to let Chase out of his fetters if something happens to me?

HOUSE: Yah. I've done it before.

WILSON: Why am I experiencing no sensation of shock at this pronouncement.

HOUSE: Probably because I'm an annoying busybody who can't leave well enough alone. Also we needed a fourth for bridge.

WILSON: Chase can't play bridge.

HOUSE: I know.

WILSON: House... Think carefully before you answer. In the event of a cataclysmic or even slightly political event inside these walls, what would be your first action?

HOUSE: Stand around staring. No, wait, I'd run real fast. Oh, nope. Wait.

WILSON: Chase is my responsibility. If I pass him on to you, can you do me that service?

HOUSE: Oui, mon capitain. I will let ze 'ound lewse.

WILSON: (Sighs, nods)

HOUSE: You're serious. Really? Chase would be deeply upset if he could hear you right now. In fact, he'll probably be almost as upset when I tell it to him secondhand without asking your permission. I thought he was still in punishment. What'd make you give me a free pass to let him out for a frolic? You know the next time some kid gets the wrong brand of chips out of the vending machine I'll call it a political upheaval and unleash the hounds. Or hound. Or-- what's a partial plural and a partial singular? Hound-slash-zzz.

WILSON: He is most definitely under punishment.

HOUSE: Huh. I figured you'd got over it. I mean. Pff. It's Chase. How can you stay mad at those faces?

WILSON: I can't tell Chase. Chase will worry.

HOUSE: I'll handle all the breaking of bad news at awkward moments parts.

WILSON: Thank you, I think. I need to know... when this happens... will you be on my side?

HOUSE: I dunno. Who will the new guy be?

WILSON: I'm serious.

HOUSE: I'm not sure. Sometimes I think maybe you can't be my friend. I mean, it's not like you're really my boss, but you have me in your control. You have to decide things about me on a professional basis. If that breaks down, how do I know who's left with me?

(Wilson sits on couch with House)

WILSON: Heh. How do I know who's left?

(Long, quiet consideration)

HOUSE: Whatever. Sure.

WILSON: I can count on you.

HOUSE: (Munching malteds) Don't ask me things like that.

WILSON: But you just said--

HOUSE: Geez, Wilson. You're asking me to confirm it. Don't bait my tendencies to negate everything I promise.

(Wilson shrugs. Places a hand over one of House's and when House lets loose of the candy bowl, holds that hand. House slumps sideways, leaning on Wilson's shoulder.)

HOUSE: (Holding up bowl of candy) Malted milk ball?

Supernatural Street

2010-10-12T04:37:39Z

The title should have warned you, but: if you like your childhood the way it was, walk away now.
***
Supernatural Street

for Sam
***

COOKIE MONSTER: Dis Supernatural Street. It have tendency for many strange things to happen. Dis why me prefer always settle in with luscious, freshly bake butterscotch chip cookie and classic law text.

(Enter Ernie, in a battered leather jacket and his striped sweater)

COOKIE: Oh look. It me estrange brother, Ernie.

ERNIE: Hi, Cookie Monster!

COOKIE: Hello, Ernie.

ERNIE: Cookie Monster, I'm afraid I have some bad news.

COOKIE: Bad news about cookie?

ERNIE: No, it's my old buddy-- I mean, it's our father, Bert. He hasn't been home in a few days.

COOKIE: Oh. No problem. Bert probably just drink a little too much grape juice at the pigeon convention and no want to drive home. No need worry, Ernie. Now if you not mind, me return studying law.

ERNIE: Ahem. Our father went shopping for frosted sugar cookies, and he hasn't been home in a few days.

COOKIE: Dat totally different. But how we travel about, seeking dear ol' Dad?

ERNIE: Oh, that's easy. I sold Bert's bottle cap collection and bought this nineteen sixty-seven Chevrolet Impala.

COOKIE: Sweet ride.

(Cookie Monster and Ernie settle into the nineteen sixty-seven Chevrolet Impala.)

COOKIE: First thing, before we go anywhere, me look to see if dis vintage model vehicle have seat belts.

ERNIE: Oh, you bet it does, Cookie Monster. The first thing to keep in mind when on a hunt for your missing father is safety, isn't it, Cookie Monster?

COOKIE: Dat right, Ernie. Safety and cookies.

(Ernie and Cookie Monster click their seatbelts on)

ERNIE: Come on, Cookie Monster, let's go find Bert!

***

ERNIE: The first place to stop is at Bob's, to get some supplies.

COOKIE: Me running short on cookies.

BOB: Come on in, guys. I heard Bert's missing. Is there anything I can do to help?

COOKIE: Me can always use cookie.

BOB: I'm sorry Cookie Monster, I don't have any cookies. I have a whole lot of sheet music. And this shotgun.

ERNIE: It's a good thing I've had my gun safety classes. I knew they'd come in handy one day.

BOB: That's right. And, Ernie, the kids should be reminded that you never handle a gun without an adult's permission.

ERNIE: (facing camera) Got that, kids? (laughs)

COOKIE: But you give Ernie permission. Then we go get cookie. I mean Bert.

BOB: Ernie has my permission to use the shotgun. Also, I have a little bit of information for the two of you. Listen closely, Ernie and Cookie Monster.

(Cookie Monster leans at a heavy sideways angle in toward Bob, googling eyes in concentration)

BOB: I've heard a rumor about lots and lots of thunder and lightning going on around Azazel's Bakery and Cake Decorating shop.

ERNIE: Wow. A rumor. That's when you hear people say something but you haven't seen it for yourself, and you're not sure it's true.

BOB: That's right, Ernie. It's just a rumor. But I have some pretty good sources.

COOKIE: Bakery place where they sell cookies. Me vote go there.

ERNIE: But we have to find Bert.

BOB: Ernie... Didn't you say that the last you knew, Bert was going to shop for frosted sugar cookies? Do you know what bakery he went to?

COOKIE: Ernie, listen to clues. Thunder and lightning indicate supernatural influence we should check out.

ERNIE: You're right, Cookie. (cocks shotgun) Let's go.

***

(The Furry Arms Hotel)

COOKIE: Me exhausted from travel on road. Me open suitcase and see what inside. Cookie Magazine... Shorts... Make me think of shortbread... Mmmm... No cookies! Oh well, me eat photograph of cookie from magazine. Omfnarmnomf.

ERNIE: (Removing Rubber Duckie from suitcase) I'm gonna take a bath, Cookie Monster.

COOKIE: Good idea. Me get some sleep. (Falls asleep)

(Foggy edges of the picture indicate Cookie Monster is dreaming)

YOUNG COOKIE: Mmm, Mommy, dose cookie smell so good! What kind are dey?

MOMMY: Oatmeal raisin chip, Son. Your favorite.

YOUNG COOKIE: Oh, me favorite, oatmeal raisin chip! Oh goodie, oh cookie cookie cookie.

MOMMY: They have just a minute until they are done. I'd better watch them very closely.

(Enter Azazel, an Anything Person with light brown hair and wild, yellow-orange plastic rhinestone eyes. He wears a red and white straw hat and spats and carries a cane.)

MOMMY: That's odd. We seem to have a Yellow-Eyed Muppet performing vaudeville in our kitchen, Son.

COOKIE: Mommy, no watch Yellow-Eyed Muppet! Watch cookie! Me smell something burning-- noooo!

(Dream close-up on Young Cookie Monster, staring in open-mouthed dismay)

COOKIE: (Out loud, in sleep, fretful) Ahh, oh no! No, me cookie, entire batch, no!

ERNIE: (holding a towel and Rubber Duckie) Wake up, Cookie Monster!

COOKIE: Oh, where me am? Oh Ernie, it so awful. Me have dream again.

ERNIE: Calm down, calm down. Don't worry, Cookie Monster. We'll find Bert and--

COOKIE: Me not care about Bert! Me care only about oatmeal raisin chip! Oh Ernie, me close to hysterical.

ERNIE: I think the best thing to do in these situations is to have a brotherly moment.

COOKIE: (Taking Ernie by the lapel) Me no want to hear about brotherly moment! Me only want oatmeal raisin chip again!

ERNIE: Cookie, Cookie! The oatmeal raisin chip cookies are gone, and they're never coming back. All we can do now is find Bert.

COOKIE: You right, Ernie. Me sorry. Me do research on Azazel Bakery and Cake Decorating and Cookie.

ERNIE: That's the idea, Cookie. You're the best researcher I know, when you don't eat the computer.

COOKIE: Look, Ernie, Ernie, look! Me find picture. Azazel is same as Yellow-Eyed Muppet! He own bakery where Bert went to buy cookie, and where all storms are happening! Just thinking of Yellow-Eyed Muppet make me so angry me could get physically violent. Me drive all night to bakery and take revenge for oatmeal raisin chip.

***

(Animated, rough hand-drawn lineart in black on white background. Scant details. Every S word is briefly animated across the screen throughout, with a bold letter S at the beginning of each.)

MALE NARRATOR: This is Sam.

SAM: Hi. I'm Sam.

NARRATOR: Sam starts with S.

(Rough lineart Sam holds up his rough lineart shotgun.)

NARRATOR: Sam has a shotgun. Shotgun starts with S. Look sharp, Sam! Something's slinking onscreen!

(The white background is being increasingly obscured by uneven fingers of ink black. The blackening section of the screen is marked with two red, slanted eyes floating in the murk. The word "SIGH" appears printed beside Sam's head.)

SAM: It's an evil spirit.

NARRATOR: Spirit starts with S.

SPIRIT: Surrender, Sam. Spooky spirits have you surrounded.

SAM: Shove off.

NARRATOR: Surrender, surrounded, spooky and shove start with S.

SPIRIT: I make your soul scream, Sam.

NARRATOR: Sam is scared.

(Tiny animated words: "shiver" "shiver" appear near Sam's shoulder.)

SAM: Only slightly.

NARRATOR: Sam has some salt.

(Sam holds up a rough lineart bag labeled SALT, with which he loads the shotgun.)

NARRATOR: Salt stops spirits.

SAM: Salt stops spirits.

NARRATOR: Sam will shoot the spirit with the salt in the shotgun.

SAM: Pretty much. Seeya later, spirit.

SPIRIT: SHRIEK!

SAM: And stay out.

NARRATOR: Sweet, Sam! You saved the day.

SAM: Thanks to the letter S.

***

(Azazel's Bakery and Cake Decorating. Bert is standing at the bakery counter, dressed in a black leather jacket, with a rifle on his arm. Enter Cookie Monster and Ernie.)

BERT: Ernie! Cookie Monster! Sons! You never should have come here, Ernie.

ERNIE: Why ever not, Bert?

BERT: I've been trying to buy some frosted sugar cookies, but it's taking days. The Count is decorating the cookies, and he won't stop counting every individual sparkly sprinkle in every color of the rainbow. We could be here until next Oatmeal Summit time comes around. I bet my pigeons miss me something fierce. I hope you remembered to polish my paperclip collection, Ernie. This is so frustrating.

ERNIE: Bert, that's great. I think you managed to work in a reference to just about every one of your interests. And don't worry, Big Bird is feeding your pigeons. Did I call you Bert? I mean Dad.

BERT: Yeah, yeah. I'm your dad. And I suppose I drive a seriously cherried out pickup truck.

ERNIE: Nah, your truck is basically a piece of junk, Dad.

BERT: Figures.

COUNT (In kitchen, wearing white chef's hat, apron, a monocle and a shiny black cape) Eight thousand three hundred and sixty-nine individual green sparkly sprinkles! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!

(Thunder crashes, lightning strikes)

COOKIE: Oh no, now how we ever get cookies? Me normally gentle type guy, but dis make me start to simmer.

ERNIE: How will we get our father out of this mess? Don't worry, Bert, we'll think of something.

BERT: Well, you'd better.

COOKIE: Me say we behead the Count.

ERNIE: (Gasp!) What? Behead the Count, Cookie Monster?

COOKIE: It only way to be sure. Only way to kill a Count. And get cookie.

ERNIE: But Cookie Monster, the Count is our friend! We'd never see him again.

COOKIE: Dat true. Then again, me maybe never see cookie again either! Be voice of reason for your little brother, here, Ernie.

BERT: I'm just about desperate enough to do the beheading thing, Ernie.

ERNIE: I don't know what to do! Suddenly I'm having so much conflict over this job!

COOKIE: Ernie, Ernie, no have conflict. Me need you here keep me safe and feed me cookie.

ERNIE: I'll keep you safe, Cookie.

COUNT: AHAHAHA HA! MUHAHA! *cough* AHA! Sixty-eight billion and nine violet individual sparkly sprinkles! One! One orange individual sparkly sprinkle! HAHAHAHA.

(Thunder, lightning, and more thunder)

(Enter Azazel)

AZAZEL: Cookie Monster, it's good to see you again.

COOKIE: You ruin me cookies! Ruined me entire childhood.

ERNIE: You hired the Count to work on the cookies and hold Bert here for days at a time. What do you want?

AZAZEL: Cookie Monster has the power to eat much more than cookies.

ERNIE: That's true.

COOKIE: But all me want to eat is cookies. Me no want eat inappropriate things. If dat start to happen, Ernie, promise you kill me.

ERNIE: Don't say such things. Cookie Monster, you and me are brothers.

COOKIE: Me remember Bert twelfth media center fondly.

BERT: (pained sound) So do I.

COOKIE: Remind me of lemon butter cookies.

BERT: Reminds me of a lot of lost episodes of Battlestar Galactica.

COOKIE: Also tasty checkered red valances. Also roadhouse, also mausoleum. Also whole lot of candy canes around Christmas time. But no. Me never lose control like dat again. Oh please, Ernie. Please spare me moral decay. Kill me if me eat radio.

ERNIE: Cookie Monster! I will never, ever kill you. I can always win gently used home appliances and car parts in my regular poker game with Oscar and Luis.

AZAZEL: If I control the cookies, I control Cookie Monster.

COOKIE: Nobody control Cookie, Fool. OWM NOWM NOWM NOWM AAAHWM NOWM NOM NOM NOM NUHM.

AZAZEL: He just ate the body I was possessing. That's really annoying.

COOKIE: Ahm nowm nom nom om nom. (licks furry fingers) Taste like brimstone. With touch of nutmeg.

AZAZEL: I'm going to have to briefly rethink this.

BERT: He ate all the couch cushions last time he slept over, too. I thought we'd never get him shipped off to law school.

AZAZEL: Ah, then it is begun. All is according to my plan.

COUNT: (From kitchen, hoarsely) AHAH *cough* AH-- Ha. Two thousand eight hundred nineteen, one half, and one candy coating crumb of tiny circular cinnamon flavored red hots. All of those fall into the red category.

(Lightning, distant thunder)

BERT: Guys... Ernie... about the Count? The cookies I've gotten really tired of standing here waiting for?

COOKIE: Me have suggestion. Me suggest we steak him.

ERNIE: Steak him? Why, that's a great idea, Cookie Monster!

(Ernie scoots offscreen, returns in a split second with a plate of steak)

ERNIE: Interesting fact about steak, Cookie Monster.

COOKIE: What dat, Ernie? Tell me.

ERNIE: Little known fact.

COOKIE: Oh yah?

ERNIE: It starts with the letter S. Steak starts with S.

COOKIE: Dat really interesting, Ernie.

ERNIE: S is one of my favorite letters of the alphabet. Especially capital S.

COOKIE: Me bet it is.

ERNIE: I love a nice, big, curvy letter of the alphabet.

COOKIE: Perhaps you enjoy some time alone with capital S, Ernie.

ERNIE: Maybe later. Right now we've got to stop the Count!

COUNT: Ernie, you are a clevwer advwersary. Thank you for the steak. It has completely removed my desire-- temporarily-- to count anything out loud, as I will have to chew it to enjoy it.

AZAZEL: Count, don't! No..! But I must keep cookies out of the hands of the Winchester family!

BERT: Who-- what? Who are the Winchesters?

ERNIE: That's us, Dad, remember?

BERT: Oh yeah, right. (To Azazel) I'll take a dozen cookies, please.

COOKIE: (Googling eyes, patting bakery counter with a paw) Oh yah yah yah yah cookies cookies cookies.

(Azazel, disembodied and cloudy, represented by a lot of frowning, airbrushed charcoal colored foam, rings up a dozen cookies on the cash register)

AZAZEL: I'll see you again, Cookie Monster Winchester.

COUNT: Ah, this is delicious, delectable! Savwory steak. Wonderful steak!

ERNIE: Quick, while he's eating the steak! Get into the Impala!

(Ernie, Cookie Monster, and Bert get into the nineteen sixty-seven Chevrolet Impala. Ernie turns on the radio and drives away from Azazel's Bakery and Cake Decorating.)

COOKIE: Me have seat belt on. Safety first. Cookie second.

ALICE COOPER'S VOICE: (On the radio) This hour of super rock songs was brought to you by the letter S. And now a second snazzy set of classic rock, sponsored by S!

(Radio plays ZZ Top's "Francine")

***

BERT: Well, here we are, safe at home with a dozen cookies, and the only part of the Impala Cookie ate on the way here was one headlight. I gotta say, Ernie, you're getting better at this kind of work.

ERNIE: Thanks, Dad. (slapping Bert on the shoulder) I learned it all from you. (laughs)

BERT: Yeah, well.

ERNIE: You know, we argue sometimes, but I love you, Cookie Monster.

COOKIE: Me love you too, Ernie. Especially when you give cookie.

ERNIE: Aw, that's nice. Isn't that nice, Dad? What a great ending.

BERT: Sure, nice. I think it would be polite to ask Cookie Monster to spend the night, Ernie. Just hide the couch cushions first.

COOKIE: How about have three-way? Nice way wrap up fiction.

ERNIE: That sounds good, Cookie Monster. But we only have two single beds.

COOKIE: Me can work with that.

BERT: Ernie, have you seen my bottle cap collection?

From tyrc-- questionnaire with Mr. Winchester

2010-08-26T20:31:23Z

At first, I thought I'd do this to see if I could pull any information out of John (who is supposed to have given and be giving me information, and whose full explanations tend to trail off with "I had a very good reason to do this", but it's impossible to sneak up on this man with a question. However, let's see John do this, anyway, answering (or not) 38 questions without using any words.

The Rules of Engagement:
1) Choose one of your own characters. (Let's just be clear that our subject does not belong to anyone.)
2) Make them answer the following questions. <-- make them answer?
3) Feel free to add some questions of your own. (I've got further questions for this dude, but we'll save those for a non generalized form)

Hi, John. Can we talk?

*John nods*

1) What gender are you?

*hooks thumb in belt and rolls eyes*

2) What is your age?

*patronizing smile*

3) Do you want a hug?

*attempts to engage in French kiss*

4) Do you have any bad habits?

*delighted smile*

5) What is your favorite food?

*pulls pack of gum and bottle of hot sauce and plastic sealed venison jerky out of pocket, separates venison jerky from lint and other items and holds it up*

6) What is your favorite ice-cream flavor?

*serious consideration*

7) Are you a virgin?

*barely suppressed hilarity*

8) Have you killed anyone?

*dark glower ends this line of inquiry*

9) Do you hate anyone?

*puzzled headshake*

10) Do you have any secrets?

*entirely blank expression, the one Dean can approximate but not ever totally match*

11) What is your favorite season?

*looks at horizon and sighs*

12) Who is your best friend(s)?

*perturbed* *thoughtful* *swallows, looks down* *looks up* *smiles slightly*

13) What are your hobbies?

*jacks a thumb at weaponry-laden pickup in background*

14) What is your favorite drink?

*unconcerned headshake and bright expression*

15) When is your birthday?

*grabs a free implement store calendar and a red sharpie from truck seat and circles January 18th for you*

16) What age did you die?

*curls lip and taps own collarbone*

17) Are you nice or mean?

*lays a hand heavily on your shoulder*

18) Do you have any siblings?

*nodnods*

19) What do you think of your parents?

*(using one hand) thumbs up, points a finger, then thumbs down*

20) Do you like your school?

*skeptical expression*

21) How long can you stay under water?

*tosses you a stopwatch and points in direction of nearest lake*

22) Do you have a mission in life?

see # 8

23) Do you love someone?

*nearly tearful for a moment*

24) What's your favorite band?

*throws you a CCR tape (yes, tape) from the truck*

25) Ever worn a dress?

*smiles, looks sideways, then grins broadly*

26) Want to have kids?

*nodnods*

27) Favorite videogame?

*eyebrow raise*

28) At night...?

*further and entirely different eyebrow raise*

29) Ever kissed anyone?

*stern* *tugs on you*

30) What's your favorite thing to touch?

*naughty look* *shaking off of naughty look, raps on hood of truck* *returns to naughty look, maintained until next question*

31) Anyone love you?

*extended soft expression*

32) What's your favorite color?

*headshake of denial, then holds up one finger, goes and indicates truck again, tracing the Chevrolet insignia* *grins*

33) When was the last time you cried?

*looks sideways, off at horizon; runs hand over nose and mouth*

34) Do you have a pet?

*shakes head*

35) Are you mad(crazy)?

*leans into your personal space*

36) What are you?

*tugs, puzzled, at own denim shirt* *raises eyebrows questioningly* *hesitates, then makes halo shape over own head using his finger*

37) What color eyes do you have?

*points to own eyes*

38) Choose: ninjas (stealth) or pirates (rum)

*pantomimes shaking a bottle of rum*

Thanks, John. We'll talk more later.

*John smiles with corners of mouth turned down, an excellent thing to get Jeffrey Dean Morgan to do for you if you can, and casually salutes*

The Supernatural Cookbook

2010-08-19T03:11:02Z

This heartwarming recipe collection, suggested by jeffreycwells, offers you the chance to recreate some of the favorite recipes of America's most wholesome family. Enjoy.

Braised Squabs In-- Aw, Who Are We Kidding, Twinkies Again

Note: While Squabs Aw Who Are We Kidding can be prepared by and for one person, for best results use companions during the imagination step.

You will need:
1. Reminiscence
2. Twinkies

Method:
1. Ponder the possibility of shooting some doves.
2. Imagine the creation of Braised Squabs in Sour Cream with Juniper. Some inclusions you might enjoy: the discussion of how well your brother (for best results, use Dean) makes anything involving juniper berries; the last time you actually hunted anything that flies; how there was a whole lot of pigeons back at that one farm before you passed the state line, and they probably wouldn't miss a few; how squabs aren't very big anyway, in fact, they're about the same size as these Twinkies and have similar fat content; Hell, we don't even have any salt and pepper in this place, but we could go get some; Also, don't you need coarsely chopped butter for the sour cream thing?
2. Listen glassy-eyed to your father for awhile as he goes off on a tangent about how years ago, when Dean was, like, thirteen, all you boys and he ate for weeks was squabs, and that was okay, because Dean was just tickled pink over that shotgun that Pastor Jim gave him, and Jim is the one who taught him that butter and sour cream thing, right? And there was always Cognac to put in it. But yeah, been awhile since you bothered with birds. (Optional)
3. Look at each other (for best results, use companions, but you may stare with wistful vacancy into an empty cabinet, if desired)
4. Reach for 2 packages of Twinkies.

Makes 4 servings of 1 Twinkie each

Lucky Charms

You will need:
1. Lucky Charms
2. Milk (Optional)

Method:
1. Split Lucky Charms evenly between you. Evenly, you creep. Jeez.
2. No, you have to split the marshmallow parts evenly, too. You have to-- putting a lot of oat parts in one person's bowl and all the rainbow in another person's bowl is the wrong way to do this. You're doing it wrong.
3. You have marshmallow pieces in your hand, not just in the bowl. Put them back.
4. Okay, I'm counting them now.
5. Okay.

Makes 12 servings, unless your brother is selfish.

Peanut Butter Cups

You will need:
1. A conviction that your brother possesses peanut butter cups

Method:
1. Look sideways at your brother unsettlingly for up to one minute, or until he says, "What?"
2. Ask, "Where'd you put the peanut butter cups?" Until receiving the response, "What peanut butter cups?"
3. Say something that does not require a direct denial, for instance "Come on, you know what peanut butter cups."
4. To your father, say, "He (or your brother's name) has peanut butter cups." At this point, a neutral grunt will be the only response, as your father is in the middle of reading a newspaper article and has recently finished a really good cigar. Set aside.
5. Repeat steps 2 and 3 to taste.
6. Begin using questions which require direct denial, such as "Do you or do you not have those peanut butter cups?" or "Did you eat all of the peanut butter cups we had in the car when I saw you eating some on Route 4?" You will see your brother respond with sullen uncertainty, since he has no way to deny his possession without telling a lie in front of your father.
7. Now that your father has finished his newspaper article, say, "Dad, he (or your brother's name) has peanut butter cups."
8. Wait for your father to say, "Who has peanut butter cups?"
9. Point at the required brother.

Serves 3

Hint #1: Shortly after your father has received peanut butter cups is an excellent time to ask him if you can have one of those cigars, too.
Hint #2: Never divulge the location of your entire stash of peanut butter cups, a common mistake.

Water

You will need:
1. Cold beer
2. Access to potable running water

Method:
1. Select 1 or 2 bottles of beer from the cooler.
2. Drink the beer.
3. Fill the empty bottle/s from the water tap.
4. Provide each of your son/s with a bottle of water.
5. Receive complaint, "This tastes like beer."
6. Sigh disgustedly. Dump out the first serving of water and refill the bottle to give to the complainant.
7. After several years of using this recipe, dip into the cooler and hand your oldest son a bottle of beer.
8. Say, "You're old enough to drink beer, now, aren't you?"
9. Listen to your younger son explain that your oldest son is 19, and not yet 21.
10. Ask, "What, you want one, too, now?"
11. "Um. Sure."
12. Discontinue use of recipe.

Spaghettios

You will need:
1. Spaghettios
2. A can opener

Method:
1. Say, "I don't really feel like Spaghettios." until some one in your family agrees that they, too, don't feel like Spaghettios.
2. Begin opening Spaghettios with can opener.
3. Sigh, stop opening Spaghettios, and say, "Fuck, I really don't want Spaghettios."
4. Wait for your companion/s to reply, "Me either." or "Yeah, I can't stand the thought of Spaghettios right now." or "You never want Spaghettios, so why do we even buy them?" and "I don't remember ever buying Spaghettios." or "Has anyone here ever bought Spaghettios? This is like that blue Disco shirt of Dean's he swears isn't his." and "Well, it isn't. I've told you a million times."
5. Leave the can opener in the crack in the Spaghettios can and, standing near the can, look listlessly around the environment. Say, "You must have something stored away you're not admitting to. Cough it up."
6. The reply should be, "Are you kidding? Why the fuck would I have agreed to Spaghettios, if I had anything else to subsist on besides Spaghettios? I don't want Spaghettios."
7. Be exasperated. Your companion/s will be depressed. This is to be expected at this point, but the Spaghettios will still turn out fine in the end.
8. Have an inspiration as to the honor-system fresh-vegetable stand ten miles back along the highway. Say, "Do you think they packed everything up?"
9. Head to the vegetable stand.
10. On the way, spy a wild rabbit crouched in the ditch.
11. Say, "Holy crap, Dad, that was a rabbit."
12. Dad will say, "What, you think I'm blind? Drop me off here and pick me up when you have a bag of potatoes."
13. Respond with your favorite variation of "You got it."
14. Arrive at vegetable stand. Find out that potatoes are unattended, but still present. Drop 2 crumpled one-dollar bills in the provided locked box.
15. Select bag of potatoes and throw into car. Say, "Well, at least we got potatoes to bake on the hot plate, if nothing else. And we might have got a rabbit."
16. Be still and wait for comeuppance in form of inevitable reply: "What are you kidding? Of course we'll have a rabbit." Give a shrug which may or may not indicate that you apologize abjectly for doubting Dad's accuracy with a gun.
16. Re-acquire Dad. At this point you should also have two field-dressed rabbits.
17. Return to the environment containing your hot plate. Sear the food.
18. Wait about two hours for everything to stew, casting occasional blank glances at the Spaghettios can with the can opener still in it. Find a piece of gum in the car to split into three pieces to chew while waiting.
19. Exclaim over rabbit, and agree that it is much, much tastier and better in every way than Spaghettios. Mention that potatoes from this area this year are okay, too.
20. Go to bed full.
21. Wait approximately 7 to 10 hours.
22. Heat partially pre-opened Spaghettios for breakfast.
23. Go back to that vegetable stand for sweet corn because Dad wants sweet corn and he didn't explicitly state that he wanted sweet corn, which is why you didn't get any last night, for crying out loud. Say hello to the guy who is there this morning and tell him his potatoes were pretty good. Try to remember which state you're in and whether it's okay to mention having picked off some rabbits, or whether there's a late season here.

Serves 3

Bored on a Stake-Out in the Middle of Nowhere Ice Cream

Sam's Note: If you're going to call this Bored on a Stake-Out Ice Cream, you can't go inside to cook the milk. Of course, you don't have to abandon a stake-out to do this, and in some cultures it is believed you do not have to be on one in the first place (a purist disagrees) in order to make this recipe. But if there is not ample opportunity for small bugs to fly into the sugar and milk mixture while it is being heated, you're doing it wrong.

You will need:
1. 1 7 lb bag of ice, available in plastic bags somewhere within a five-mile radius of your position, no matter where you are in the country
2. Salt, already in the trunk
3. 3-4 cups Whole milk, available sometimes where you got the ice, and almost always at a farm within five miles of your current position. If Whole milk is not available, 2 percent and real cream acquired from the restaurant where you get the sugar will substitute.
4. Enough sugar packets for coffee from roadside establishments to equal one-half cup

Method:
1. Be on a stake-out in the middle of nowhere. Regularly glance restlessly into the rearview mirror, as if you should be facing that way in the first place. Say, "Fuck."
2. Wait for your brother to reply, "What?"
3. Say, "I'm bored."
4. Your brother will say, "It's a stake-out."
5. Explain, "I want some ice cream."
6. "And I want a back rub from a supermodel. Not one of those skinny ones, either." (he will say)
7. "All supermodels are skinny." (you will say) Continue, "How fast can one horde of furies come out of a cornfield all at one time, anyway? I'm going back to that bar at the T-section for a bag of ice."
8. Your brother will say, "Fine."

This step is the part that often confuses beginners. Just be aware that you have become the opposite brother beginning in Step 9. It's that easy!

9. Awkwardly hold the assembled ingredients in your arms while your brother seeks out a saucepan.
10. Say, "Couldn't I go ahead and put this ice in the cooler, and cover it to keep it cold, while you get the fire going?"
11. "Sure."
12. Go ahead and do that.
13. Open milk and pour into saucepan.
14. Open each package of sugar and dump into saucepan.
15. "Try to find something resembling a spoon."
16. Do as your brother says.
17. If you are alone, build your own fire; if you are with your brother, watch him build the fire, which he will do as follows:
Use a pit in the form of a pothole, available in any driveway or road.
If there are enough sticks available locally to keep a tiny blaze going for a few minutes, you are golden. If not, add a greasy rag to keep the dried weeds from dying off too fast.
18. Place saucepan full of milk and sugar mixture over fire and stir constantly until it coats the back of a spoon-like object.
19. Pour the milk and sugar mixture into any container on your person or in your car which will fit inside any other container on your person or in your car. Your brother's preferred bowl for the interior container appears to be a large dog bowl, and the exterior container this time will be a fish cooler.
20. Ask, "Has an actual dog been eating out of that bowl?"
21. Hear, "Don't be silly. This is a dog's water bowl."
22. Further questioning is optional, however, keep in mind that any doubts on your part are irrelevant to your brother, and highly relevant to the division of the ice cream once it is completed.
23. Place the dog bowl containing the milk and sugar mixture in the cooler containing the ice. Cover until chilled but not frozen.
24. Remove cover and add at least one cup of salt to the ice. Continue to lift the lid often and stir slowly for 1 hour, or until frozen.

Serves 1-3, depending upon how many people are present to consume the entire batch before it melts, if it is frozen before the object of the stake-out renders ice cream temporarily obsolete and this batch useless.

Fruitcake

Note: This recipe is special because the Winchesters are known as almost the only family in the entire Midwest to actually eat fruitcake during the holiday season. Traditionally, the fruitcake is served in thick slices, with beer and powdered hot chocolate.

You will need:
1. A family which traditionally serves fruitcake but does not eat it.
2. Ingratiating manners.

Method:
1. Find the family which serves but does not eat fruitcake.
2. Engage ingratiating manners. It is not necessary to do this for more than two or three moments. Keep a close eye on it. As soon as the family you are using realizes that you actually want to eat fruitcake, you will be given as much as you can hold.

Hint: The method for this recipe is also excellent for use in obtaining other seasonal Midwestern treats, such as raspberries, tomatoes, and zuchinni. However, be aware that with use of a regular address and legitimate IDs, you may be unable to escape these wholesome goodies in the future.

A Word With (Sam Win)Chester

2010-07-30T03:06:41Z

A Word With (Sam Win)Chester

The Players:
Sock Puppet Dean, at microphone
Sock Puppet Sam

DEAN: Okay, today we're gonna talk about Dad and Vengeance. Hi, Sam.

SAM: (Unfocused, possibly following pretty trails with his eyes) Hi.

DEAN: Let's talk about Dad, first. What would you like to share about Dad?

SAM: Dad like-- whose Dad? Yours or-- mine or-- someone else's.

DEAN: Heh. Um... We're brothers, Sam. Our Dad. We have the same Dad.

SAM: I have a brother!

DEAN: I know, Sam, I --

SAM: He's probably-- probably got a Dad.

DEAN: Sam, I'm your brother. We've got the same Dad.

SAM: I noticed something strange about you

DEAN: And what's that, Sam?

SAM: You're kind of funny-looking.

DEAN: Alright, alright, so. Our Dad's missing. Right, Sam? He's missing.

SAM: Dad's missing what-- missing his -- his keys?

DEAN: No, Sam, our father is missing like he's gone missing.

SAM: Dude. Where'd he go?

DEAN: I don't know. That's why we have to try to find him.

SAM: When we find him we can, like, ask him where he is.

DEAN: Right... Moving right along to our other topic with Sam, today, which is Vengeance... So, Sam, so when we find the thing that killed Mom--

SAM: I'll punch it.

DEAN: You'll punch-- you'll punch it? Like with your fists?

SAM: (Long pause)

DEAN: Sam?

SAM: It's on the ceiling.

DEAN: Right! The thing that killed Mom is on the ceiling. How we gonna take it out when we catch it?

SAM: I'll use firearms.

DEAN: Good. That's a good idea. Firearms. I've got plenty of firearms in the trunk.

SAM: C-- Can I use some of your firearms? Be a pal and kick me some of them big guns, Baby.

DEAN: Sam, we travel together. I'm your brother.

SAM: My brother's a little retarded. You gotta be-- gotta be tolerant.

DEAN: Re-- Retarded?! Where do you even get this stuff?

SAM: Yeah. He's insane.

DEAN: Insane.

SAM: But I'm sane. I got the sane genes. Sane in the membrane.

DEAN: Right.

SAM: I can move things with the power of my mind.

DEAN: Okay, I think we're out of time for today. Go ahead and get in the car, Buddy.

SAM: Heh-- have you noticed Dad hasn't been around lately? Dean?

DEAN: Just get in the car.

The Bloodhound Winchesters

2010-06-22T17:05:50Z

NARRATOR: Last time on The Bloodhound Gang:

(The office of the Winchester Detective Agency. Dean Winchester is seated at a heavy wooden desk near an avocado phone. A cell phone rings; he removes it from his pocket and flips it open.)

DEAN: Winchester Detective Agency. Whenever there's trouble, we're there on the double! Mr. Winchester isn't-- oh, hi, Dad.

(Cut to Sam Winchester on the same set, with vaguely different lighting)

SAM: Dean, have you seen Dad?

(Cut to Sam once again, opening a door and speaking presumably to Dean, who is not visible from this camera angle)

SAM: Dad's been kidnapped!

NARRATOR: And now today's episode of The Bloodhound Gang

(o/`Theme music o/` If you've got the physically manifested spiritual abomination, we've got the time, etc.)

(The office of the Winchester Detective Agency. A green glass hanging lamp, a very ornate coat rack with an unclaimed hat on it, and several sets of faintly discolored photographs, hung disquietingly in oddly-spaced sets.)

SAM: (repeatedly thunking a baseball from one hand into the glove he wears on the other) Did anything sound suspicious when you spoke to Dad on the phone?

DEAN: Of course.

SAM: Could you be more specific?

DEAN: He said we're all in danger... I picked up some kind of background pattern that comes through as a woman's voice singing "The Ants Go Marching" in an ancient Anasazi dialect...

SAM: So-- suspicious, but ordinary.

DEAN: Yeah.

SAM: Just let me please say this once: couldn't we do The Electric Company instead?

DEAN: (smacks him) 'Course not. Now, what clues can we get from this letter we have from Dad?

(Sam and Dean pore over the letter.)

DEAN: He signs it, "John 'Tres' Winchester." Hm. That's odd. Dad doesn't have a middle name.

SAM: (opens mouth to speak, gets sideways look from Dean, thinks better of it, clams up)

DEAN: (Tapping at his lower lip with a forefinger) "Tres" means "very" in French.

SAM: (Defeated) It means three in Spanish.

DEAN: (Wheels about) You're right! All we have to do is figure out what common knowledge about Spanish monastery grillwork was dropped earlier in this serial episode.

(Dean's cell phone rings. He opens it.)

DEAN: Winchester Detective Agency. Whenever there's ichor dribbling out of your hairbrush, we're there on the double. Mr. Winchester isn't here. (Listens, then whispers to Sam) It's the kidnappers!

(Sam creeps over to the desk, plucks the desk phone receiver from the hook, muffles it, and listens in)

SAM: Can we just do Captain Kangaroo?

DEAN: No. Never mix the supernatural and ping-pong balls.

SAM: Square One.

DEAN: I liked Square One.

SAM: (wistful) Yeah.

GRAVELLY-VOICED KIDNAPPER: You pesky kids still there?

DEAN: Um, yeah. You have our dad!

G-V K: As far as you know.

DEAN: Let me talk to him.

G-V K: Well... okay.

JOHN: Dean?

DEAN: I'm listening, Dad.

JOHN: I put a code in the letter. Did you get it?

DEAN: Not yet, Dad.

JOHN: The letter, or the code?

DEAN: The code.

JOHN: Well, okay. We're all in grave danger. Is your brother there?

DEAN: (nods at Sam)

SAM: I'm here, Dad.

JOHN: You shouldn't be there, Sammy.

SAM: I'll take that under consideration, Dad. Love you.

G-V K: That's enough! You know your father's alive.

DEAN: (clicks cell phone shut) He hung up.

SAM: I heard. But are you sure it was a he?

DEAN: Yes. Idiot. Obviously, all the Canada goose honking in the background was the clue, which means there's no freaky transgender stuff going on in this episode.

SAM: (looking doubtfully into the receiver he still holds in his hand) Canada... goose?

DEAN: Yes. Just as the wilderness guide told us on Monday, the Canada geese have a predetermined route they remember with magnets in their head or something and follow every year. The very same geese that nested at Pine Ridge Hubert Simpson Memorial Park for Bird Preservation will return there this year.

SAM: (Hollowly) Wow, Dean, you're smart.

DEAN: And never forget it.

NARRATOR: Next time on The Bloodhound Gang:

SAM: Dean, if you hadn't cooked pizza every Friday from the time you were twelve, Dad would've eaten condensed chicken noodle soup for breakfast, lunch and supper for the rest of his natural life.

DEAN: Maybe Dad knows something about chicken noodle soup that we don't know.

(Cut to a darkened warehouse with a huge, sprawling, spray-painted black "TRES" on the interior wall.)

DEAN: Dad was definitely here.

SAM: Yeah, yeah. We are out of sweet rolls.

DEAN: (Smacks him)

Dean Winchester's Starter Guide For Monster-Hunters

2010-06-13T08:23:57Z

Dean Winchester's Starter Guide For Monster-Hunters
by Dean

Okay, you wanna start with: what are the two most important things you could have. I can't say just one because these are of equal value. The most vital equipment is:
1) A cell phone
2) a sharp knife
In no particular order.

Let's make a test to see if you understand this:
You're stranded on a... sandbar, having been let off there by a haunted garbage scow, and you're on your belly, you're wet, and you stink. You also have no weapons. On the sand are: a wet, sand filled cell phone, some poly rope, probably off a boat somewhere, your own boot that came off your foot, and a futuristic atomic ray gun that can obliterate anything in its path.

And you can take just one thing, one item off that sandbar before the tentacle of a river Malevolence yanks you by the bare ankle and pulls you backward off the sand.

What do you grab?

WRONG. You grab the cell phone.

Also, the atomic ray gun is cool. Definitely go back for that.

If there'd been a knife, which do you grab off that sand?

Correct. Whichever is closest-- the cell phone or the knife.

If the knife looks dull..?

The cell phone.

Remember I didn't say a working cell phone, a dry cell phone, a cell phone you recognize, or a charged cell phone. Back before cell phones, all monster hunters had in their number one spot was a sharp knife.

I don't care what kind of shape it's in, a cell phone contains information, and there are a lot of ways and a lot of people who can help you get that information out of it even if it's covered in bodily fluids or sand.

The sharp knife will help you free yourself and others from potentially gruesome situations. Remember, most monsters aren't thinking about what they're going to do next with you. They couldn't care less. They just leave you there, tied up or cocooned. If you have a knife, or your partner has a knife, if you have a partner, you can go home and monsters usually forget about you. Or you can find some more weapons and go after the sonofabitch. Here are some weapons you might consider after your knife:

1) Always a knife. Then you can go on to:

2) a wooden club-- stick of firewood, anything made of wood. Never plastic. Never those new plastic nightsticks, make sure it's wood.

3) Some way to create a flamethrower. All of these are fun, so knock yourself out.

4) You can buy an actual flamethrower if you want to.

5) A bow and the knowledge of how to use it. Make sure you've got one you're comfortable with using, and get some lessons if you don't know what that should look like.

That's about it. You can get a .38 or a shotgun or both. A .38's better than a .45 for sure. You can get all kind of weapons and local items when you know what you're dealing with.

Other equipment, to keep on your person or in your car or ... lair, if you're that kind of monster-hunter:

1) Salt. The big bag you keep in your car anyway will be fine, softener salt or de-icing salt or whatever. As long as it's salt.

2) Extra cell phones

3) Flashlight

4) McDonald's apple pies at two for a dollar. If you aren't absolutely certain whether you're dealing with a corporeal or a spiritual enemy, then use the apple pies. Most corporeal animals and people will react to pies somehow-- they either accept them or reject them-- slap them aside. If they ignore them completely they're probably spirits. You can get a McDouble for a dollar, but it doesn't keep as well in the car. I have problems with mice getting into my trunk. If that's the case with you, keep your apple pies in some kind of box. Also you can use them yourself if you get hungry in the woods or on a stakeout.

5)A tire iron or a crowbar

6)flares

7)a flare gun

8) another flare gun

Don't worry, this isn't a movie. The flares actually work the first time.

9) matches

Um... let's see what else is in here.

-A full deck of cards with jokers ... with two extra jokers already put in
-a Bible
-a mini grill
-a fishing pole
-maps
-holy objects and crosses
-laptop-- going online gives you access to all the directories and professionals (besides yourself) you could need

Don't use glass vials of anything. Don't bother with empty glass vials for sample collecting. By the time you get samples analyzed, you're just backing up a hunch.

Machines can be overrated. I use some. I like to make and adapt them. When you use a device, you probably expect it to find something-- and that's interesting, but you might as well skip right to the part where you go kill that something.

If you could get ahold of a cat that's a good idea, and I'm sure monster-hunters besides me carry one in a crate in their car. But you can use the local felines to help you. Cats are nature's perfect barometer of spirit activity. If the cats are okay, you're okay. You can relax. Learn to speak cat so you know when they're upset. But a sure good sign you're okay and everything is fine is a cat with her tail and head both in the air, looking up at you.

If a cat's just coming in and out on the side of your path, or a few cats are out here and there, then it's just normal every day. If a cat of any kind, not just black, any color, crosses your path, the area is crawling with spiritual activity.

Now to the way you behave. How you conduct yourself.

1) POSTURE

2) look up and smile. People will usually talk and give you information.

3) Assume you got some on you.

4) Time wasting kills more people on monster hunts than anything else. Anything you want to say can be said in the car.

5) Get in the car.

6) I said get in the car. Look, standing in front of your car to explain things to your babbling new partner or local victim, chances are good-- I mean nine times out of ten-- the headlights will come on and you have no control of your car. Why are you talking outside? If you're bigger than your problem partner, or you can possibly overcome him, then for god's sake do so and get in the car.

7) Even a tent is better than nothing. Even an outhouse in the middle of the woods with several recent fatalities is better than nothing. Much better.

8) Posture. Posture.

9) Don't worry too much about how much fighting you know or what kind of skills you have. If you can't fight someone, don't.

10) *smack* Stand up straight!

11) Let me explain about this posture thing. Let your fear right out the front of your chest. Square your shoulders. Look at things. Don't go shyly into dark corners. Square up and walk. Never stay down. If you're on your knees, or sitting down, you'll be more frightened than if you stand. Plan to be straightforward and brave. Injuries hurt less when you're holding your shoulders up right. That includes mental, emotional things as well as physical ones.

In fact it's a trick test I gave you at the top there because if you're on your belly... even before you grab a cell phone, the first thing you should do is stand up.

12) When in doubt, use the crowbar. You can work it out later but at least be doing something. It's always clear how you should use the crowbar. So go for it.

11) Stand up straight and look around. 29 times out of 30, there's nothing to be afraid of.

12) That 30th time, those flares come in handy.

Take care of yourself out there.

--Dean

World's Shortest

2010-06-02T20:37:00Z

The X-Files:

SCULLY: (Shouting into cell phone) Mulder! Mulder, listen
to me! You can't believe this because then my own fragile
belief system will crumble because you're not supporting
it! (Frowning at phone) He must be out of range.

House:

ANYONE IN THE CAST: You're an ass.

HOUSE: (twirling cane and EXITing) It's easier just to
admit that you want me.

Babylon 5:

GARIBALDI: You know, Commander, every year of my life, I
become more and more convinced that the wisest and the
best is to focus our attention on the good and the
beautiful, if we just take the time to look at it.

SINCLAIR: You're some guy, Garibaldi.

Firefly:

MALCOLM REYNOLDS: Slash partner rotation will be posted
in the galley weekly next to the dishes schedule. And,
Simon, if I catch you in a bunk with two women on one
week again I'm partnering you with Jayne for two
rotations.

SIMON: Does my sister count as one of the women?

Bones:

BONES: Don't call me "Bones".

BOOTH: I didn't.

Six Feet Under:

Six Feet Under will not appear tonight due to
excessive functionality of the main characters.

Firefly

2009-12-14T17:34:24Z

These are my options as I see them, though maybe I don't really have any options at all:

EDIT 2: We decided to go with the Shia option.
1) Get Shia to please come over here with me and write write write. That would still take too long to leave Fox on suspension, but it's hard to say whether Fox could adversely (too X-Filesely) affect the story in the spaces where I think I don't have ideal motivations and so on.

2) Take down the story and call it good. But that means my journal looks so cluttered I'd have to go back and clean up / out some of the old entries, too.

3) Leave the journal as it is, except post a "movie as told by your friend who saw it" version of events after the last completed part; this would take more than one post to do, which gives only some idea of how long this thing really gets. And when I told Jeff everything I know-- which always means the end of writing, since I never do art which has already "gone somewhere"-- I didn't even include the little bits and pieces with Ducky and the dinosaurs.

_Not_ an option: Leaving everything as it is without adding the Firefly completion. The journal has been in suspension unless I'm posting Firefly or the other stories I posted-- the quick ones.

Problem: When I thought I went to take down what's up and just save it for my use, last night, I found I lost all good feeling re my soundtracks, I felt sad. Had been making decent progress recently. I also feel as if I can't write other stuff until this is done, or more specifically, my full-length Daniel Pinkwater fanfiction ain't happening if this one ain't.

EDIT upon reading this back right away to myself: I definitely find it most appealing to go back and clean up this journal either way.

Convincing Red: Fraggle Rock fanfic

2009-10-20T05:10:31Z

Idea by Channing and Red Fraggle. My own episode concepts all revolve around sex.

Happy birthday, Jeff! Here's your lost episode.

Fraggle Rock and characters obviously copyright to amazing people who are not me.

This counts as working on Firefly.

***
Convincing Red
***

(Doc's workshop. A large, somewhat battered wooden wardrobe is occupying the space between Sprocket's bed and Doc's drafting table. Wires in a rainbow of colors connect the wardrobe to the computer across the room. Doc is enthusiastically clicking away on the keyboard. Enter Sprocket, through his swinging dog door. He is mystified by the array of wires.)

DOC: Sprocket, you'll be pleased to know I've added a measure of efficiency to this makeover software that Betty-- I mean Ms. Ardath lent to us.

SPROCKET: Mreh-huh? (Perks ears, appears near Doc's elbow near the computer keyboard.)

DOC: Yes, see, it's called "You Could Stand to Dress Better: Glamour Made Easy." And I've made it even easier! See, I patched it into this wardrobe I bought at the used furniture store. It's interfaced such that I can step inside the wardrobe and the computer program will make over my appearance automatically!

SPROCKET: (Gesturing at Doc with a paw) Wroh-whoo huh owr?

DOC: Oh, nothing, Sprocket, but let's face it, we're years behind in style, and spending so much of my time at the Captain's Inn, I'd hate to spoil its image with less than modern fashion.

SPROCKET: (Sing-songy innuendo)

DOC: Sprocket, there is a difference between trying to impress Ms. Ardath and simply trying to be the best representatives of ourselves-- and of an establishment like the Captain's Inn-- we can be. I asked Betty for tips, and she thought we'd have some fun with this. Come on, want to try?

SPROCKET: Ruff?? Nuh-uh.

DOC: Fine, stay in a rut. Now to update my fashion. I'll set it for... "today", "male". And "Enter".

(Colored lights blink along some of the wires as Doc crosses to the wardrobe and steps behind, presumably into it. Sprocket watches curiously, then turns a wide-eyed and dubious glance to the camera/audience.)

(Pan down through the floor and the plumbing pipes to Fraggle Rock.)

(The room of Mokey and Red. Through the window, the music of the Minstrels, predominantly Cantus' magic pipe, sounds. Red stands at the window, listening and watching anxiously. Cantus' pipe and a reedier, deeper supporting sound break off from the group and Red follows this song as it traverses the outer hall and ends at the entrance to the room. Mokey appears, dressed in chains and baubles, minstrel-style, along with her usual sweater and soda-can-pull amulet. She is playing her double-reed pipe. Lanford is already in the room, decked out similarly to Mokey. He hums, trills and la-las to himself at her arrival.)

CANTUS: (stands in the doorway, stops playing to speak) You have done well, Mokey. In a few days you will join us on your second journey and first step into Minstrelhood.

MOKEY: My first step-- yes, I see what you mean. I'll meet you again after I get packed.

CANTUS: I shall be having a jam session with my fellow travelers. I would be glad for you to blend with us.

MOKEY: Oh, I will.

CANTUS: You, too, other, pigtailed Fraggle. You may blend, or you may listen, or you may do both.

RED: (Uncertainly) Yeah, thanks.

CANTUS: (Exit, resuming pipe-song)

RED: Do you really know what he's talking about?

MOKEY: (Turns from the netting upon which she is piling scarves and clothing) Sometimes. The rest of the time I wait and listen. You have to take it on faith.

RED: (Dubiously) I see.

(Enter Wembley, Gobo, and Boober, each wearing a prominent set of plastic teeth. Boober's are pointy fangs.)

WEMBLEY: (Performing truly heroic pronunciation around his new teeth) We just came by to see how Mokey is getting along.

BOOBER: (Fumbling with his mouthful of fangs) Yes. I'm planning a feast for all the Minstrels.

MOKEY: (Giggles) What happened to your faces? Look at yourselves.

BOOBER: I'd rather not look, thank you.

GOBO: (Sputtering) Convincing John convinced us to wear funny joke teeth.

BOOBER: Only mine are more scary than funny.

WEMBLEY: So how's it going, Mokey? You almost packed?

MOKEY: Well, I have a lot to do yet, but I think I'll be ready. (Goes down the line, petting each of the joke-teethed Fraggles in turn.) I'll miss each of you so much. But only think! To be uniting the Rock in song! The significance of it expands my heart.

WEMBLEY: Aw, we'll mith-- miss you, too, Mokey.

RED: I wanna do something significant that expands my soul. Or my heart. Or whatever it is Mokey is expanding!

GOBO: (Moving close to Red, apart from the others) Red, I was thinking, Mokey's gonna be gone awhile and I thought you and I could spend some time together. Maybe go rock climbing.

RED: You are wearing ridiculous teeth.

GOBO: Well, I--

RED: I'm going to go see Convincing John!

GOBO: (Spitting around teeth) Why? Red, the teeth aren't that big a deal.

(Exit Red while Gobo is speaking.)

MOKEY: Say, Boober, I'm going to be without your cooking a long while. I know it's an awfully big favor to ask for the Minstrel feast, but I wondered if you could perhaps make your famous Cornish game radishes?

BOOBER: Of course!

(Convincing John's cave. Red and Convincing John are here.)

JOHN: So you want to be an Apprentice Convincer.

RED: I want to do something big and important, yah! You can convince anyone to do anything! That must be amazing, soul-expanding work.

JOHN: Convincing is very glamorous seen from the outside, it is true.

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Enter, without warning)

(o/` Convincing John's Theme)

CONVINCING SINGERS: Listen to Convincing John, and all your trouble--

JOHN: Just one moment, girls. I have something to say to Red Fraggle, first. Red, Apprentice Convincing is lonely work. Are you sure you want me to do this?

RED: You can't make me any lonelier than I will be anyway-- and you're supposed to be the one to convince me. I shouldn't have to decide beyond coming here to do it.

JOHN: Very well. (Nods, gestures to Convincing Singers)

(o/' Convincing John's Theme)

CONVINCING SINGERS: Listen to Convincing John, and all your troubles will be
gone.
He's gonna tell it, spell it, sell it just for you.

JOHN: Now when Fraggles need convincing there's no point in vocab mincing
use your powers to the full extent you can.

CONVINCING SINGERS: You can.

JOHN: But you think, like every other Fraggle, mother, friend or brother
That convincing is the realm of just one man.

CONVINCING SINGERS: That's John!

JOHN: The first step you must take to make a Fraggle image shake
The mundane, the furry, earthy daily guise
Is to sparkle on the first impression. Often that decides the question.
Dress the part and really wow their eyes.

CONVINCING SINGERS: Their eyes. (They converge on Red and apply clothing. When they part, Red is dressed in a pastel tailored suit and a matching hat with her hair neatly pinned, in the style of a female televangelist.)
Listen to Convincing John, and all your troubles will be
gone.
He's gonna tell it, spell it, sell it just for you.

JOHN: To build up your conviction in your own convincing mission
Understand that Fraggle Rock hinges on you.

CONVINCING SINGERS: On you.

JOHN: The moss will grow outside-in, the Fraggle horn sound smaller than the
falling of a pin
At the singing of the will you bring to bear.
I know it's true, you know it, too:
The power of Convincing John you share.

CONVINCING SINGERS: Listen to Convincing John, and all your troubles will be
gone.
He's gonna tell it, spell it, sell it just for you.

RED: (Stunned, gradually recovers, feels of her hat and lapels)

JOHN: Now, you are ready to practice your profession. Find someone and convince them of something through and through.

RED: I'll start right now! (Exits.)

(Tunnel outside Convincing John's cave. Red is hurrying. On her way, she passes a pair of sweet-faced, round, furry crevice-dwelling creatures, each of whom is fitted with joke teeth.)

RED: I'm going to show Mokey!

WEMBLEY: (Enters stage right. His joke teeth have been removed.) Rrmp rmp rmp rmp. (Wembley and Red, who is in a rush, collide.)

WEMBLEY and RED: Oof!

RED: (Gets up, righting her hat.) Ow. Oh, hi, Wembley.

WEMBLEY: Whoah. Ooh, oh, hi, Red! You're all dressed up, huh?

RED: I gotta go quick and show Mokey. This is my official convincing outfit.

WEMBLEY: (Bouncing) Oooh, do me, do me.

RED: Uuuh... Um, no offense, Wembley, but you're not exactly a tough sell. You could be convinced by an imposing radish sandwich.

WEMBLEY: Have been on occasion. Come on, hit me with your best convincing.

RED: Well... alright.

WEMBLEY: Ohboy ohboy I get to be the first to be convinced by Red.

RED: I'll... Convince you to tell everyone that I'm the Rock's greatest convincer. You stand over here.

WEMBLEY: (As he's being pushed into position) Oh, Red! You are the greatest! You're the best that ever was!

RED: Uh! Wembley, I haven't started yet.

WEMBLEY: WOW. You are the greatest convincer the Rock has ever seen!

RED: (Abandoning him) Leave me alone. (As continues down corridor) Even though I am pretty great.

WEMBLEY: (Waving) Okay. I'll do that. Love you. You're the greatest. Now to go tell everyone. (Exits, trotting off the way he came)

(Mokey and Red's room, occupied only by minstrel-garbed Lanford, who still experiments musically to himself.)

RED: (Enters) Mokey, Mokey... Mokey?

LANFORD: Rrrrrrr.

RED: Lanford. Lanford! I know, I'll convince you to be sickeningly sweet to me. (Positions herself just slightly inside Lanford's personal space)

LANFORD: RRRRrr. Rr?

(o/` A convincing theme)

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Zoom into position around Red)

RED: Augh! Ah-- oh. It's just you. Acolytes.

CONVINCING SINGERS: Red is gonna tell you the truth.
When you hear her you'll believe it, too.
She's gonna lay it on the line she's gonna tell it like it
is.
Now listen to Convincing Red.

CONVINCING SINGER 1: (Whispering, in RED's ear) Go ahead, Red, we've got your back.

RED: Uh, right. So! Lan... ford...

LANFORD: Eep?

(o/` Spiritual)

RED: You got the hardest heart that ever was seen
Leaves of yellow or leaves of green
There's never been any plant half as mean as you are.

CONVINCING SINGERS: Oooh. Red is gonna tell you the truth.
When you hear her you'll believe it, too.
She's gonna lay it on the line she's gonna tell it like it
is.
Now listen to Convincing Red.

RED: I'm your favorite person. You see me every day
You want to be with me although maybe not in that way.
The truth is inside you, it's the way the Rock made you.
Since a sprout you've felt affection you've been hiding away.
You need me, want my hand to hold your leaves through thick and thin.
You want to pet and fawn.

CONVINCING SINGERS: Fawn on Red.

RED: Your night-blooming heart unfurls as if it's Spring.

LANFORD: (Attempting to give Red kisses)

RED: Is it safe to touch you now? Did it work?

LANFORD: Purrpurrpurr.

MOKEY: (Enters carrying her double reed pipe, to which is tied a decorative scarf. She crosses paths with the exiting Convincing Singers, watching them go without comment.) Hi, Red. Why-- Red! And Lanford! Look at that! I'm glad you two finally get along. Oh, that's so sweet.

RED: (Chuckling to herself) Good boy, Lamby.

MOKEY: Why, Red, you look so professional!

RED: I am a professional. I am a professional Apprentice Convincer.

MOKEY: I never knew that interested you. Well, I'm just here a minute. Gotta go. Lanford, it is so nice to see you being a good boy to Red.

LANFORD: Chirrup.

(Mokey exits.)

RED: Wow. This power is handy. And Mokey's impressed. (Pats Lanford.)

(Boober's room. Wembley comes screeching in.)

WEMBLEY: HeyBooberguesswhat?

BOOBER: Augh! What?

WEMBLEY: Red-- Red is the greatest, oh, wow, you wouldn't believe how great she is.

BOOBER: What am I, chopped Doozer sticks?

WEMBLEY: I mean, she's the greatest single convincer the Rock has ever seen!

BOOBER: Uh-huh.

WEMBLEY: Let me tell you all about it.

BOOBER: Um, sure, Wembley. As soon as I've finished alphabetizing this lint.

WEMBLEY: Okay! I'll go find someone else to tell until then. Rmp rmp rmp rmp. (Exit)

BOOBER: That was a shorter than usual visit. Okay, where was I. A... Alpaca.

(Doc's workshop. Doc steps out through the doors in the front of the wardrobe. The lights still blink in the wires between the computer and the wardrobe. Doc's updated outfit includes a hairstyle that is one half slicked down, the other stiffly standing straight up. He sports a blazer; a powder blue necktie, tied loosely; a pastel shirt; and saddle deck shoes. His eyeglasses have developed a disturbing slight off-yellow sunglass tint to the lenses.)

SPROCKET: (Covering his mouth with a paw, struggling) Mrpmh. Meep. Oomph. Oomp.

DOC: Oh, so it's terribly funny, is it? I'm only trying to improve upon my basic appearance. Well, let's see how you look with a little updating! (Hefts Sprocket by collar and rear end into the back of the wardrobe.)

SPROCKET: Whoop!

(The hole to the First Room in outer space. Wembley barely stops on the threshold as Gobo goes through.)

WEMBLEY: GoboGobo and guess what else, you know what Red convinced me to do? She convinced me to tell everyone how great she is at convincing--

GOBO: Yeah, I could tell, alright, Wembley. (Exits. Returns momentarily.) I got the card. Let's go read it with Red, what do you say?

WEMBLEY: I say Red Fraggle has a depth of convincing prowess I've never seen before she convinced me of it. Oh-- yeah, sure, anything you say, Gobo.

(Tunnel outside Wembley and Gobo's room. Red, still dressed to convince, is listening, with Wembley, to Gobo.)

GOBO: Collecting my Uncle Traveling Matt's postcards from outer space is my career. These are part of our Fraggle heritage, too.

RED: Uncle Matt's postcards are dry, dull fabrications. How can you spend so much time and effort on someone who's not even here?

GOBO: Don't hold it in, Red. Tell us how you really feel.

RED: I will. And you'll feel it, too.

GOBO: Uh-oh.

WEMBLEY: Can you read your Uncle Matt's postcard soon, Gobo? I kinda got a lot of Fraggles to tell about Red's convincing.

RED: Hold it. I have something to say first.

WEMBLEY: Well, look. I'll make the rounds at the pond, then come back in a little bit, okay? (Exits at a brisk pace)

GOBO: Wembley, I--

(o/` A convincing theme)

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Enter as if from thin air, startling Gobo.)
Red is gonna tell you the truth, when you hear her you'll
believe it, too.
She's gonna lay it on the line, she's gonna tell it like it
is.
Now listen to Convincing Red.

RED: Right, I knew you'd be here. (Sighs) Let's get to it.

(o/` Driving spiritual)

RED: (Advances on GOBO, who still holds up Uncle T. Matt's card)
What about those postcards, girls?

CONVINCING SINGERS: BORING. Drab-flat-dry-dreary
Leaden-pedestrian-slow-heavy

RED: That's right! They're dull, oh, so dull.
Paper bits from outer space
Written by Matt with a random scrawl
I think you know they're

CONVINCING SINGERS and RED: Humdrum, tedious,
Wearying-monotonous

RED: Boring! Dull, unsensational and then there's me.

CONVINCING SINGERS: Red's bewitching! Captivating!

RED: And most of all I'm here with you, I'm athletic, I typically have pigtails
and I'm present.
Outer space is far away, uninspiring, unsatisfying.
Traveling Matt is stodgy in his writing.
I'm alluring, entertaining.

CONVINCING SINGERS: You can't deny it.

RED: Spectacular, surprising--

GOBO: Red, I think you're laying it on a little thick.

RED: I'm interesting, galvanizing-- whatever that means-- invigorating,
stimulating.

CONVINCING SINGERS: The postcards, they're unanimated, tiring.

RED: Feeble, uneventful, unexciting, irritating.

CONVINCING SINGERS: Dispiriting cards.

RED: Stale! Want to read one now?

GOBO: Well, you know I do. I've got one right here.

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Exit)

GOBO: Dear Nephew Gobo: The silly creatures in outer space sit in a great hall and listen to stories just as Fraggles do. Instead of a storyteller, there is a window leading from the great hall into another part of outer space.
(Pauses to sigh boredly.)
Through the window, we listeners could see silly creatures wearing dashing white or black hats. Each silly creature climbed to the top of an individual cave. They carried small tubes which made startlingly loud noises. When the white hatted silly creatures made their tubes give off loud bangs, the black hats became so surprised that they fell off the roofs of their caves.

RED: He's talking about some kind of weapon. (Tries to read over Gobo's shoulder)

(Outer space. A movie theatre in which the house lights have been brought up. Uncle Traveling Matt is holding a bucket of popcorn, one arm wrapped around it, the other arm securing a large cup of soda including a straw. He scurries back and forth on the stage, his chin almost to the screen.)

T. MATT: (Narrates) I was concerned for the safety of the silly creatures who fell off of their caves, but was unable to find a way to contact them once storytime had concluded. (Continues, on screen, to blank movie screen) Hello, hello little black-hatted silly creatures?

JANITOR: (Enters, sweeping)

T. MATT: Excuse me, sweeping creature? How does one go about getting through this window?

JANITOR: (Split-second stare. Shakes head, continues sweeping up Junior Mints.)

T. MATT: (Facing camera) Still, the popcorn was quite delicious.

(Tunnel in Fraggle Rock. Gobo and Red are present with Uncle Matt's card.)

GOBO: (Mechanically) Love, Your Uncle Traveling Matt.

RED: THEY WATCH PEOPLE PLAY WITH LOUD WEAPONS AND THEY GET POPCORN. Let me see that.

GOBO: (Crumples card into a pocket) You're right, of course, Red. I guess I'll go watch condensation develop on the pipes near the First Room. That's gotta be more fulfilling than my so-called career. (Exits ploddingly.)

RED: Gobo?

MOKEY: (Enters, breathless, upset, speaks with strident tone) Red, what did you do to Lanford?

RED: What do you mean?

MOKEY: You must have done something. Otherwise, why would he say he wants to stay here with you instead of coming with me on my first Minstrel tour?

RED: I'm an Apprentice Convincer. I told you, remember? I convinced Lanford so he'd never dream of being mean to me.

MOKEY: But now he just wants to stay with you and we've been looking forward to this tour for so long. (Wails)

RED: Don't cry, Mokey. I know! I'll convince you to be happy.

MOKEY: No! I want to be happy naturally. I can't be convinced to be happy. Cantus says we should live our truth, and sorrow is my truth right now.

RED: Oh, Mokey. Well, I can't unconvince Lanford. Convincing John hasn't trained me to professionaly unconvince. I've got it. I will convince Lanford to hate me.

MOKEY: But, Red. That's artificial.

RED: So, I should convince Lanford to love you the most?

MOKEY: Oh, Red, then I'd know his love was just put there by a Convincer, and wasn't real!

RED: What do you want me to do?

MOKEY: I don't know. Just fix it. I have to go help Lanford take off his Minstrel clothes. (Sniffs. Exits)

RED: This isn't working out at all. It doesn't seem like I'm convincing anyone of anything important. And if I sit around and wait for someone else to ask me to convince someone, I'll end up like Convincing John in a room all alone. But it's powerful, so it must be important! It's just so depressing. I hate to be depressed. But I can't stand to be a quitter. I'll try one more convince. I'll try... well, I'm near the kitchen.

(Kitchen. Boober is here. Red smoothes her somewhat straggling pinned hair, sets her hat, and sweeps in.)

RED: Hi Boober!

BOOBER: Ah. Convincing Red. I don't need convincing.

RED: Well. That's probably true. (Inspired) But I can convince you that you do need convincing!

BOOBER: Ah-huh.

(o/` A convincing theme)

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Enter)

RED: Is the constant back-up strictly necessary?!

BOOBER: (Backs away from Convincing Singers, lips shuddering)

CONVINCING SINGERS: Red is gonna tell you the truth. When you hear her you'll
believe it, too.
She's gonna lay it on the line, she's gonna tell it like it
is.
Now listen to Convincing Red.

(o/` Slow spiritual)

RED: (In a soothing tone) I've got a little conviction to lay out for you.

BOOBER: Ah, no, that's alright, you can stop now, I really don't need-- Ack!

CONVINCING SINGERS: What do you know, what do you know?
What do you truly know?

RED: This eternal Rock sprang up
Before you knew what knowledge was,
Before you had a waking thought,
Before you were a Fraggle pup.

CONVINCING SINGERS: What do you know?

RED: Hang your laundry on the line
Plan it, pin the clothes and socks
You're expert at the washing, but
Which stripe dries first, whose sock this time?

BOOBER: I can't always predict it.

RED: Your decisions are drops in a Fraggle pond.
The water decides where they go.

CONVINCING SINGERS and RED: What do you know? What do you truly know? (Convincing Singers Exit)

BOOBER: Nothing! And I had to make a decision about whether to wrap the Cornish game radishes in grape leaves for roasting, or to baste them with a Doozer dust glaze! Without at least another millenium's experience, how can I expect to make a sound decision? Wait a minute. What am I saying? Of course, there's no replacement for the glaze. Otherwise, how will they achieve a nice sheen?

RED: My convincing wore off?

BOOBER: I am not as easily convinced as some Fraggles I could mention. And, Convincing Red Fraggle, I want to emphasize that what you tried to do could have been very dangerous. What if there were a mass casualty during the Minstrel feast and I had to perform triage?

RED: It wore off! I gotta go check on Lanford. (Exits, hat bouncing)

BOOBER: And part of the magic of laundry is not knowing which stripe will dry first. Or spot. Or even tassel. (Sings to self) What do I know? What do I truly know?

(The room of Mokey and Red. Mokey is reapplying Minstrel garb to Lanford.)

MOKEY: Red! What's happening? Lanford just asked me to take him along on my Minstrel tour.

LANFORD: Raaah!

RED: Lanford! (Squeezes him) You're unconvinced.

LANFORD: Rah?

RED: Mokey? When you go on that tour, I'm really gonna miss you.

MOKEY: Aw, Red. I'm going to miss you, too.

(Mokey and Red hug.)

RED: I'm going to go see Convincing John. (Exits)

(Tunnel on Red's way to Convincing John's cave.)

(o/` Country and Western ballad)

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Enter)

CONVINCING SINGER 1: You need us, Red?

RED: Thanks. I think this one's all me.

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Exit)

RED: I learned from the start
And I took it to heart though it took a long time to sink in,
Be yourself with your friends, let it shine from your heart
What you know and you feel to be true.

That's a part of me
The way I see
What I believe
And your truth's a part of you.

There's a distance between me and you
When I try to tell you what to do.
It's easy to begin, gets harder as you go.
Ain't no such thing as a five-Fraggle solo.

That's a part of me
The way I see
What I believe
And your truth's a part of you.

(Convincing John's cave. Convincing John and Red are here.)

RED: I can't bring myself to quit, but it's turning out all muddled.

JOHN: You're convinced of your ability to convince. But maybe not of the need for it. I understand. And I can help.

RED: (With relief) You can?

JOHN: (Snaps fingers)

(o/` Convincing John's Theme)

CONVINCING SINGERS: (Enter, flanking Convincing John) Listen to Convincing John,
and all your troubles will be gone.
He's gonna tell it, spell it, sell it just for you.

JOHN: At times a Fraggle's seeking will take her out job-placing to get the
working
truth behind the scenes.

CONVINCING SINGERS: The scenes.

JOHN: When all is clear and she has seen, she reflects on what has been, but
there is more to learn outside the lines.

CONVINCING SINGERS: The lines.

JOHN: So the job is not for you. Be sure to take home something true. That you
are most convincing not only when persuading but when Fraggles
are themselves when they're with you.

CONVINCING SINGERS: With you.

RED: I am most convincing when Fraggles are themselves when they're with me!

CONVINCING JOHN: Come back soon, Red.

RED: Thank you, I will, Sir, thank you! I'm free! Woo-hoo! (Speeds out of the cave and through corridor, tossing off hat)

(Tunnel in Fraggle Rock. A crux in the stone corridors. Red comes upon Wembley, Boober and Gobo. Boober has clutched Wembley by the back of his banana tree shirt collar.)

RED:(Craning around Gobo to look at Wembley) How is he?

WEMBLEY:(Flailing) I -- have to-- go tell all the Fraggles in the world!

RED: Oh, no.

GOBO: At least mine wore off. The way I see it, you're just an Apprentice Convincer, I guess you have to build up to really long-term convincing. I figure the only one we'll have real trouble with is Wembley.

WEMBLEY: (jogging in place) Sorry to be so much trouble to ya, Gobo.

GOBO: How many verses did you use on Wembley?

RED: I didn't use any! I barely even got started. But he's my responsibility. And I couldn't wait to change out of that suit.

GOBO: That wouldn't help. Even if you convinced him not to go tell all the Fraggles in the world what a great convincer you are, he'd still think you're convincing. I have an idea. (Whispers in Boober's ear)

WEMBLEY:(Grunts, struggling against the pull of Boober's hand on his collar, nose forced down)

BOOBER: Oh Wembley.

WEMBLEY: Yah Boober?

BOOBER: When I prepare the Cornish game radishes for the feast for the Minstrels, should I stuff yours with bread or rice dressing?

WEMBLEY: You mean I have to make a decision?

BOOBER: Yes.

GOBO: Wembley, I think you want butternut squash dressing.

WEMBLEY: I do. Wow! That's amazing. How did you do that? It wasn't even one of the options!

BOOBER: And now I need you to go about and ask all the Fraggles what kind of stuffing they prefer.

WEMBLEY: You got it! (Boober unclasps Wembley's shirt collar. Wembley exits at superFraggle speed.)

RED: I'm exhausted.

GOBO: You need a rest. Let's go rock climbing.

RED: Yeah!

(Doc's workshop. Doc's outfit now includes leg warmers. Sprocket is wearing a black rhinestone collar and a black, broad-brimmed Glam hat with large, fluffy, purple feather. His fur has been crimp-ironed.)

DOC: (Laughing) Perhaps a solid traditional, timeless look is right for us after all, eh Sprocket? We can't shame ourselves-- or Ms. Ardath and the Captain's Inn-- as long as we put our best selves forward.

SPROCKET: (Shrugs, faces camera, strokes his gleaming collar while commenting in a throaty voice)

DOC: (Taking the Glam hat off of Sprocket and placing it on his own head) Well, nothing wrong with a little glamour now and then, Sprocky. (Chuckles)

SPROCKET: Woof!

(Tunnel in Fraggle Rock. Title and credits appear on the screen.)

WEMBLEY and GOBO: (Scat sing through the end credits until all of the Five join in the Fraggle Rock theme song.)

Just a Little Favor for a Friend Pt. 20

2009-07-22T08:25:00Z

The Little Lame Prince, finish
***

"Don't you think we should help him?" Kaylee asked everyone at the table.

The crew looked to Simon, but Simon didn't reply. He had both hands holding very tight to the edges of the seat of his chair. Mal gave him an appraising glance, then passed Kaylee the fried potatoes as if that were what she had asked for.

Jayne made the stairs sideways. He had begun with the cushion from the lounge sofa tossed next to the med-bed to soften his landing, but in lowering himself to it he pushed it out the way with one leg and could not reach it with his hand. His knees hit hard, he felt and heard the jarring.

His first attempt at forward motion was on his belly, pulling himself with his elbows, but found that without the use of his legs this was slow and inefficient. He rolled onto his side, balancing on one elbow and lifting himself into a sitting position with the other hand, knees bent and legs splayed back on either side. In this way he could inch forward relatively rapidly by pushing with his hands.

When he came to a hatch he pulled himself through it by the frame. He could hook one leg over, then the other, haul himself up and through the frame and land in his forward sitting position. Outside the infirmary he took a rest.

In the galley, a plate of toast had been in the process of being passed from hand to hand around the table. When Jayne stopped outside the infirmary, Zoe had the plate in her hand. She began listening for Jayne and forgot the plate.

The stairs seemed possible in the same way that Jayne had passed through the hatchway, but he shortly decided on going up them in a sideways seated position, as it was easy to lift his seat with one arm behind him and one above for the short distance of one step. His breath was labored by the time he was halfway up. Simon made a pained sound at the rasping noises beyond the galley hatch. His fingers turned white with holding more firmly to his seat.

Mal continued chewing. Kaylee was giving a stricken look at her fried potato fritter.

In the galley, Jayne discovered the problem of gaining his chair. He laid himself across the seat. River spoke. "Let me give him one hint."

"Yeah, can't we help?" Kaylee hoped.

Jayne snarled, "I don't need any help, I'm independently functional. Just ask Doc."

"It's-- it's alright. Let him be."

Jayne considered the problem. He could tense his arm with his palm on the chair seat and slowly raise one side, but found he couldn't use both arms effectively; he tried to change the angle and the chair went over, knocking his head against River's chair. He shook off the blow and tried to use the table edge in both hands to raise himself. There was nothing directly above his head with which he could have easily pulled himself straight up. "Gimme your ruttin' chair," Jayne muttered at River. She lifted from her seat. Jayne put one hand each on her chair and his and swiftly lifted and lowered himself into the chair he wanted. River smoothed her skirt and took her place.

Jayne thought that now he should scoot his chair so his knees would be under the table, but seated properly, he found his legs tied up the front of the chair. He could tip it forward, but if he moved, the chair hit his legs. He twisted so his arms and upper chest were at the back of the chair, used one hand to throw one leg over the seat, hitching it past a snag between knee and chair back, and was straddling the chair with his front to its back. He threw his weight forward, scraping and jouncing the chair along until he turned all the way around and came back up to the table. "There. Pass the potatoes, beans, pork, biscuits and fruit sauce."

Several sets of eyes stared. Jayne waited, sighed, sniffed, rubbed his nose. "Please! Oh, and pass the salt, too. Please?"

Zoe blinked and lowered the plate of cold toast in her hand to the table.

Danny passed the salt. "That was grand, Jayne."

"Was it? It was just coming to the galley."

"Only one cuss word the whole time."

Kaylee began to cry.

"Aw, shut up, Kaylee."

"Jayne," Mal admonished quietly.

Kaylee tried to stop, and munched a piece of cold toast around her tears.

River watched Haven entering the galley.

"Good Lord," said Ducky as she pulled back her chair to join the crew. She was staring at Jayne. "Pilots miss everything. You--" she pointed discreetly-- "got a little blood on your elbow."

"Oh." Jayne took a napkin.

River kept her eyes on Ducky, but her mind was on something else. "Why isn't Wash flying?"

"Honey--" Zoe said in dismay.

Jayne broke in before River could answer Zoe. "What's that noise?"

"What did you hear?" asked Mal.

"Somethin' in the infirmary sounded like it. I thought it was doctor stuff, but now I think on it, that musta been when that pilot came in to look at me when I got woken. And she's here now."

"You heard it when Ducky was in the infirmary?"

"I think so."

"That settles it."

"What settles what?"

"Ducky's arm," said Mal. "Sonic dirt. Beyond the trouble of finding parts and repair for a newfangled arm like that, a tiger with good ears can hear it, no good use if you gotta hide from one. We're going back to the good old fashioned design."

Ducky's forehead creased in concern.

"Don't worry," said Zoe to the pilot. "We'll find a good dealer."

"Why isn't Wash flying?" River persisted.

The crew began to eat slowly, following Ducky's and Jayne's examples. Kaylee had wiped her face and picked up her fork and knife.

River said in frustration, "I know things. I know he's not flying Serenity. But he's just sitting there."

"Like in my dream," Simon remembered aloud. "I had a dream. Mostly about Wash."

"What all was in it?" Zoe asked casually.

"Oh, it was this world full of trees. Full of impressive, tall trees."
Simon stole a lengthy look at Jayne, but Kaylee drew his attention back.

"Like your house, Simon? Yours and River's at home?"

"No, Kaylee. Nothing like that. Pine needles. I was walking on pine needles. And Wash was sitting-- I walked to him. He was sitting down. He was watching the sky, and there were lots of ships in it. I could see the lights-- the engines. And we talked, just chatted. It was really lucid, as a matter of fact. I told him how much we all missed him since he died, and he--"

"What clever thing did he say?"

"I can't talk like Wash, but it was just like him. He-- I can't repeat it like he would. He said... Well, I said, 'After you died,' and he said, 'After--'. You know, like he was surprised. 'After I died?'... No, more like 'After-- after I-- I died?' and it was like a joke, as if he didn't know." Simon gestured helplessly. "I can't do it. It was funny."

"Nobody can tell a story like you, Doc."

"Dreams is boring," grunted Jayne.

Kaylee put down her flatware in attentiveness to Simon. "And then what happened?"

"Nothing. We laughed. We gave each other manly punches on the arm."

"Wash did somethin' manly?"

Mal grumbled, "Watch it, Cobb. The man's dead."

Zoe silently got up from the table, clearing her cup and plate.

"Are we sharing dreams?" asked Ducky. "I had one where I was wearing live kittens as bunny slippers."

"We could use a pair of kitten bunny slippers around here," said Mal. "Or a brace of cats."

"Two hundred and sixty-four little brains," River commented warily.

"We'll take care of that when we get in port." Mal briskly thunked the table edge with his palms. "Now. Day's work. Say, Zoe. You're on bridge maintenance."

"Sir." Zoe informally saluted as she put her dishes on the counter.

Kaylee piped up, "Bridge maintenance should be me and Ducky."

"You're both on other chores today. Zoe can handle that loose control piping. Danny, dishes. All day today."

"I thought I was doing decks," Danny protested. "What's wrong with the sanitizer?"

"You like decks. You can do decks on your birthday. I don't need to personally know who decided to sanitize an oven mitt. Mayhap it was an oversight."

"Then who is on decks?"

"Jayne's doing decks."

Jayne glanced at Mal, then made fixed eye contact with Simon. Simon swallowed his mouthful of potatoes and took a long drink to wash it down.

River offered, "There's a tiny sanitizer in the infirmary."

"Ah. This explains the carefully wrapped, taped dishes in my autoclave this morning."

"The tape changes colors."

"Yes. Yes, it does."

"Ducky, guess what you get to do. I'll hint that the dark reaches are involved."

"Oh, I want to." River was plaintive.

"I know, Albatross. You know I want Ducky to handle it until you get some practice with me with you out there. I know you want to."

"Ooh, scraping hulls?" perked Ducky.

"So I'm takin' a real outside guess that my job is the sanitizer?"

"Get started on scraping, cleaning, and filling those corroded points on the hull. I want us all done before we enter another atmo. Don't need those spots spreading. Get in a suit right after course review and get to that. Yup, Kaylee, sanitizer's you."

Ducky cleared her plate. "Aye, aye. Sir."

"I'm setting up some places to sell those medical supplies once we reach land. Jayne, there's a hovercart in the cargo bay. Program it to hover at mop-handle height--" Mal paused at Kaylee's flicking her eyes towards Jayne's seat. The captain looked at the man he'd been speaking to; Jayne was sound asleep, his chin and one arm slumped on the chair-back. "Right. Uh. We'll just-- explain it in a little while."

"So, let me see if I understand this," Kaylee said in a voice meant not to wake Cobb. "You're gonna give Jayne the hovercart and a mop and bucket. The hovercart's got a field to stop it crashing too hard into or through bulkheads... but Jayne and the mop handle don't. You think this is safe?"

"I think once he catches on he'll be safe enough."

"... I meant for us."

River floated behind Simon's chair and petted his shoulder and the back of his neck. "Shame."

Doc did not need to ask what his sister was talking about. He remained stubbornly seated, but she knelt by his chair and tugged at his elbow.

"You are obliged to communicate. I leave you alone about your mind most of the time. Just go do what Wash told you to do."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

River shook her head with righteous certainty.

Simon managed to avoid Zoe, unable one way or another to catch her when she wasn't busy, until Cobb was at his deck project, beginning with the bridge where Zoe was working. Simon felt he had to see how Cobb was getting on, hoping Jayne wouldn't think he was being overprotective, and found Zoe taking a break, leaning on the console.

"Zoe, uh, I--"

Zoe turned.

Simon overrode his intimidation, bypassed the risk of refusal and took her cheeks in his palms, brushed back her hair and gave her a sound kiss on the lips. "That's from Wash."

Zoe looked startled but also amused, so he continued: "In the dream I had, he got up to go, Wash did, and I was standing there, and he kissed... me like that and said, 'Give that to Zoe for me the next time you see her'." Simon faltered self-consciously in his retelling. "I wasn't going to say anything. But River made me do it."

"I see."

"Anyway. Then Wash walked away in the woods, and said good-bye with his back to me, sort of waved without turning back. And that's all. Everything else I told at the table."

"Did River read my mind and tell you to kiss me?"

"No." Doc was unsure what Zoe was asking. "Wash told me, in the dream-- oh, yes, she made me do it, but she didn't tell me. She knew."

Zoe nodded and was turning back to her work. Simon pulled her upper arm, stopped her and hugged her firmly. After a startled pause, she squeezed him back.

"And that's just from Simon," he gave her his warmest smile.

Zoe relaxed and grinned. "Okay, Doc. Fine."

Mal swung up to the bridge. "Zoe. Help Jayne when he needs to switch levels again with that cart."

"I don't need any help!" Jayne hollered. He continued in a more desperate tone, "I'll get 'em done! Don't leave me."

"Where would I be leaving you?"

"I ain't givin' you no ideas if you can't think of a place on your own."

"Well, then, Jayne, until I do think of a place you're sticking with Serenity."

Just a Little Favor for a Friend Pt. 19

2009-07-22T07:55:17Z

The Little Lame Prince, continued
***

Kaylee slammed cans about in the galley.

Mal strolled through, inquiring, "Got a problem with supper duty, little Kaylee?"

Kaylee moaned. "I thought fairy tales are supposed to always have happy endings. I didn't know it'd upset him. I thought happy meant the hero's legs would be fixed. I thought if I read it, it'd be inspiring. Now he is more depressed than ever. I'm sorry."

She gave a shuddering whimper and cranked open a can of vegetables which, upon being lifted to dump into a pan with two other cans full of vegetables, turned out to be whole kernel corn and not beans. "Oh, no. I wanted three cans of beans. Now I'll have too many vegetables open if I get another can of beans, and nobody will have the right amount of vegetables that match. I can't do anything right!"

"Control yourself, mechanic," Mal said gently. "I need you to work out a solution... to... this mistaken vegetable identity."

"I should never be allowed near the galley! Everybody cares if someone cooks right. I do it wrong and nobody cares and Jayne will never forgive me. He's going to be eating this -- I guess if I just take him the whole can of corn, he'd eat it."

Mal barely smiled. "Carry on."

"Poor Jayne."

"Excuse me? Poor who?"

Kaylee turned around from the counter in uncertainty. She wasn't sure what Mal wanted her to say, so she reached for the problematic can of corn again. "Well... But you know his legs're never gonna get well again."

"That a fact? He gonna be Poor Jayne for the rest of his life?"

Kaylee was at a loss. Mal saw this and returned to familiar ground. "Supper on this table on time's what I need outta you, Miss Frye. Don't think about it too hard."

"Aye, Cap'n."

***

Jayne was too morose to notice River arranging medications on a tray in a manic fashion. She was mumbling to herself. Jayne was sadly staring towards but not at the infirmary hatchway. He roused himself somewhat when Simon entered, but Simon focused on River, who turned her back, hiding the tray of medicines with her arms.

"Hey Doc." Jayne reached for Simon's arm, but Simon skirted the med-bed with a flutter of one hand to acknowledge the patient.

"River, what are you doing?"

"I'm categorizing. You know full well these are Cobb's meds. Don't put them in the drawer meant for my treatments. And these, these too. One of these labels is badly smudged. And I'm donating my antidepressants to Cobb."

"Oh, no, you don't. River, you have half the medicines in the infirmary jumbled--"

"Leave me this tray." River gripped the tray's edges when Simon tried to lift it from her.

"You have everything jumbled up."

"I heard you say jumbled. I don't have anything jumbled!" River responded fiercely.

"Okay, mixed up, then. You need me--"

"I've got it under control, myself!" River tried to gather the medicines closer to her with one arm while still holding the tray.

"Give to me. River, you need these, and we need this place organized."

"No!" River swirled away. "I don't want to need them!"

Simon tried to keep a hand on the tray. The resulting tug sent medicine bottles in all directions. "Oh, no." Some of the pill bottles had spilled and mixed their contents. Liquids dripped off broken glass.

"Now they're disorganized," River moaned. "So, so disorganized."

Simon lost his temper. Though the disturbance did not show on the outside, the instant in which he felt it, River cowered away from him with black, angry eyes. "River!"

River frowned at her brother, lifting a protective hand across her chest.

"It's not fair. So not fair. How can I be gentle with you when you can always tell when I've lost my temper?"

River brushed back her hair and knelt over the scattered medicines. "Some of these are plastic. Maybe they didn't-- didn't get damaged. Maybe I didn't ruin everything."

"You-- well, okay, some of it is ruined."

"Oh, oh. No, maybe we can freeze some of the liquid and use funnels. Some of these caps are on broken glass. That's no good. You can't do medicine. You're no good as a doctor. You don't know what you're doing."

"I'll take care of it, Dear one. Please." Simon laid a hand on her back.

"'Go, before you ruin anything else,'" said River in a condemning tone.

Simon took several quick, deep breaths before he made himself answer. "Go. I've got it now. I'm calm, you go on and trust me, I've got it taken care of." He placed the flat of his hand between her shoulders and aimed River at the door as she rose.

"'Dearheart'," River said listlessly. To Jayne she added, "I'm sorry for interrupting your consultation."

"Doc," Jayne said again when River had deserted them, "I gotta talk to you."

His look was so unnaturally mournful that Simon felt wary. He pulled up a stool and leaned toward Cobb to give him his full attention, discouraged before he began by what he might ask him. But Jayne didn't start by asking questions.

"Kaylee's been reading me a story."

"That was nice of her."

"Yeah. It was nice of her-- on account of my being invalid and all. Until the story turned out to be all about this young prince who got dropped on some marble stairs when he was just going to get christened, and he grows up to be King and never gets well. He's a little, bitty baby, and his legs ain't working. He can't stand up. And he has this fairy godmother, right? Well-- she gives him a cloak, to travel in, but she never fixes his legs? What good is that fairy godmother? If she wasn't a lady, and she came up all sweet on me about how she's my fairy godmother, I'd give her face a rearrangement. Nothing wrong with his fists, that I can see."

"Oh, dear."

"What good is growing up and being King if you can't have young'uns? He has to be King, see, but he has to have a heir, and he don't even take a wife. He takes on one of his cousins as a son to him. I want a real young'un, of my own. I don't want my cousin's young'uns, even if they do turn out fair."

Simon snatched at his professionalism, righted it, and managed, "You-- want children?"

"Not only that, but what they think's a happy ending is the King with no legs just flying off into the beautiful mountains," Jayne scoffed. "I want a ranch on one of the prairies. I been savin'. Need a woman and young'uns for that, so I gotta save up so a gal'll come with me permanent. Fella can't be on no ranch on his own."

"I didn't know you wanted that."

"You're saying I can't have it now, right?"

Jayne saw Simon's helpless hesitation, however brief. "Jayne, that story has nothing to do with you except that you and the main character both have paraplegia." As soon as he used the word, Simon could see this was going to lead to an extended explanation, so he substituted "Paralysis, that is. Of the legs. Your legs don't work," as quickly as he could.

Jayne nodded.

"I know that this is important to you, so I'm going to talk with you about it now, before you bring it up to everyone at the dinner table. Your relationship with-- the ladies whose company you choose may be changed by your injury."

"Ladies? You mean-- yeah, I know. Without legs, they might not want me."

"Jayne, What I'm trying to tell you is that it may take more than an hour's pay to accomplish what you're trying to do."

"Gorramit! This is an expensive wound to get!" This was the Jayne Simon was used to, but in the next moment he was again veiled in sadness. "I heard Cap'n tell you to fix me so I can work. I know what that means."

"What does it mean?"

"Means if you get put off this ship, I get put off this ship. You tell him I can't work, Mal'll believe you. You're the doc. Then I'll be outta a job and my home."

"No, no. The idea is for you to get the best chance at recovery."

Jayne lunged and grabbed a handful of Simon's pullover, yanking him in toward him until their noses were touching. "You think I ain't smart enough to know I'm a goner if I get my back wounded doing something stupid again? Doc, tell me the truth. That electrical thing you told about. You really expect it to make my legs good enough for cargo work? This kind of cargo work?"

Simon felt disinclined to give unfavorable prognoses to a tiger who had him by the lapel. "Jayne, you misunderstand me."

"I think I understand. You're gonna stop thinking about my spine and ways I could get hurt. So you just shut your measly brain up whenever it worries on things ain't its business like how hurt I might get in my body."

"But," Simon panted, "I'm your medic."

"Naw. You're the medic for folks as gets hurt. You fixed up my wounds and I appreciate that." Jayne loosened his grip, but still had Simon pulled up on his toes. "Capn's gonna put me off Serenity. Doc..." he released Simon entirely, leaving a wadded lump in the pullover fleece where his hand had been. "Promise me. Right now. Afore you leave this infirmary or go anywhere else. I'm on this ship. I'm part of this crew. And you're still my regular Doc."

"I can't promise that, Jayne."

"Why? Doc Tam, if I'm dying, or if I ain't healthy enough to be your patient anymore, I want you to tell me to my face. And then I'll go off and die like a good little tiger."

Simon set his jaw, loosened and set it again. Then he took Jayne's hand. "I promise you can work and I won't say a word about your spine."

Jayne shook Doc's hand.

***

Simon nursed his hand, picked up and sorted pills. He was concentrating on inventorying the medicine destruction on his medscreen when Zoe tilted her shoulder partway in to the infirmary, acknowledged Cobb, and informed Doc, "Your sister's in the wash boiler element access."

"Again?" Simon frowned without looking up. "Can't you do something to lock her out of there?"

Zoe arched an eyebrow. "You ever try locking anything against your mind reading sister?"

"You need to use the element?"

"I was planning on it, 's why I checked the access."

"Thank you." Simon leaned one shoulder anxiously in the direction of the corridor. "I'll be there directly."

***

Mal headed for the mechanicals with a wrench and paused, backed up and crouched to peer into the opened element hatch. River's back, visible in her wrinkled cotton dress, curved around the drain pipe. Mal rapped on the open access hatch with a knuckle. "Albatross, how about comin' out of there? This ain't natural seabird country."

River coiled around the drain. "I belong here."

"That's well and good, but when Zoe starts up that element you'll be cooked."

"Cooked like goulash."

"River, you know I'm partial to you curling your little body up just wherever you like it on this ship. But you look like a lost calf."

"I'm a girl. I'm frozen. Frozen."

Mal touched her shoulder. River circled herself more firmly in place. She spoke to the back of the canister, echoing. "Get the shepherd. He will have to tell us what to do."

"Shepherd's dead. I got you and Zoe to always tell me what to do."

"I don't tell you what to do," she cried. "I can't. Don't touch me, I'll freeze you."

"No, you're warm. Too warm."

River loosened the curve of her body and Captain Reynolds eased her out. "I found the calf. Better carry this calf of mine back to the barn. Best put her forelegs over my one shoulder-- like this, and her hind legs over the other shoulder."

River draped, limply silent, across his neck.

Mal gripped River's wrists together in one hand. "It's a mite windy. Could have trouble with gettin' back to the barn--" he dipped his shoulder and staggered dramatically.

Simon came to the mechanicals area as River gave a small hee sound. Simon watched the captain steadily with a cool look Mal could not identify. Then River outright laughed, and Doc's expression was displaced with a smile for her.

The captain slung River off his neck as she readied her feet to hit the deck. "There's your big brother calf. Best go in to him."

River went and Simon guided her out by the shoulder; he gave one pleasant look back over his shoulder at Mal.

***

As prearranged, as soon as Captain Reynolds awoke the next morning, he took McBride, who was unresponsive as expected, to the infirmary and strapped him down so Simon could dose him. This time Danny woke up with disorientation but without a violent fit.

"There's no telling when it will come. Better let him up."

"Can I come to breakfast?"

Simon gave his approval.

"Yeah." Mal waved Danny out of the infirmary before him.

"Doc."

"Yes, Mister Cobb?"

"Can I have one of those cushions off the lounge sofa?"

"Sure. Where do you want it? Behind your back?"

"Just let me have it."

"Do you want me or someone else to come and eat breakfast with you?"

"Nah, I'm coming up to the galley."

Firefly: Just a Little Favor for a Friend Pt. 18

2009-07-22T07:30:43Z

The Little Lame Prince

***

Simon made his way, drifting, to River's room, where he slid to the deck near her bunk. She had been lying on her belly, heels crossed up over her back, changing every other numeral on a computerized counted cross-stitch frame to see what would happen to the tiny birds in the pattern.

"Jayne's awake," she said.

Simon nodded. His expression was one of despair.

River reached over and tousled Doc's hair.

"This wasn't my job, you know. When my part, the trauma part, was over with, they'd go into intensive care. Or into therapy."

"And now you have friends for patients."

Simon's face crumpled.

"Okay, Brother. You clearly need to get some perspective on what your responsibility is to Jayne Cobb. You work so many miracles that you've forgotten that's not your job description."

"I think I'll sit here for the rest of my life."

"That's not what you think. You think you have to pull yourself together and talk to Captain again."

Simon was granted a short reprieve from this task, however. Ducky was calling from the corridor. She stuck her head in the room. "You're wanted in the infirmary right away."

"Jayne?"

"No. That McBride."

Simon stumbled up and into the corridor with speed.

"Mal!" Simon reprimanded the captain in distress when he saw that Danny was once again grey and unconscious.

"I didn't do anything to him this time."

"Let's see. What's the blood on his lip from?"

"Well-- we did punch him a few times."

Simon awaited continuation.

Mal pointed toward the cargo bay impatiently. "We were all fistfighting in the cargo bay-- just fighting some. Danny had an unfair advantage over me being as he's youthful and lithe. So Zoe took over. They had a fair fight and he went down and then he didn't get up. Spoke, though, before he blacked out again. As if all was usual and he didn't see it coming."

Simon ran both hands through his hair desperately. "I have to wake him up or we'll lose him--"

"But if you give him the drugs to do it he'll go mad."

"Very likely." Simon was doing it anyway.

"And you can't use the depressant drugs."

"Right, or he'll crash again. Like he's doing now. What is it."

"Something they did to him on that ship."

"He's going to wake up, so, Captain, help me strap him down here in case he has another extreme reaction."

Through the examination and discussion, Kaylee was perched on a stool next to Jayne's bed, holding a threadbare clothbound book and watching the goings-on, her place in the book held open by her thumbs. Jayne looked up at her, then over at Mal and Simon with resignation to an indefinite interruption in the tale. "Who is that?"

"It's Danny," Kaylee told Cobb.

Mal was asking Simon, "What about the drugs we picked up from that boat? Anything in there that might help?"

"If you mean the unfamiliar ones, no, nothing that I've been able to find any reference to. I'm well versed in medications, but I don't feel comfortable using those."

"You sure it ain't just some new miracle drugs?"

Simon began to say something, but the restrained McBride shot awake. Danny stared through them with glazed eyes and would have thrashed but his arms were tightly at his sides with buckles on them. He struggled violently but meaninglessly, rapidly jerking his head side to side in small increments. Then the boy suddenly fixated on Simon and tried to pull a shoulder out of the med-bed strap with clear, menacing intent.

"Daniel-- Daniel! Is this what he did on the infirmary vessel when you went back with him, Captain?"

"More or less."

Simon attempted to examine Danny's face. "He could do himself damage trying to break out. Help me hold him down."

"Settle, McBride," Mal grumbled, aiding the wrist restraints by closing a hand around Danny's lower arm. "We ain't got time for this."

Danny noticed the grip and raged at it.

"I'm beginning to lose my nerve with this boy. He could stop breathing any time he sleeps or anything else upsets his system or chemistry. Good Heavens, do we have to knock him out to get him to stop? Danny, I want you to wake up now. Come on."

Danny did. He began to try to sit up normally, felt the restraints, and lay back with a frown and glazed eyes.

"Danny?"

From her stool, Kaylee ventured to add, herself, "Danny?"

"A'right. I'm a'right. I am in the infirmary? Wow, and I feel like I had the wind knocked out of me."

"Was Zoe did that." Mal motioned to Simon, who undid the straps, poised against the potential of Danny turning on him.

Danny rubbed his forehead and thought. "Just give me a minute so I don't embarrass m'self by wondering who you are."

"Who is that fella? And why's he trying to attack Doc?" Jayne was mystified.

Simon slipped, saying, "One of the zombies from the infirmary vessel."

Jayne stared at Doc, then asked Kaylee, "Zombies? Just how long I been out, again?"

Danny gave Doc a startled look, and Simon realized he had to amend. "The others weren't clear-headed at all."

"Captain."

"McBride."

"I seem to know who and what I am. And you're the captain Mal Reynolds. I think I'm good to go." Danny jumped down off the med-bed, steadying himself on Simon. "Thanks, Doc. I guess I owe you for medicines. How bad was it?"

"Bad, not long-lasting though," Mal said.

Danny was waiting for Simon's verdict. Simon decided to forgo a professionally tempered speech. "What Captain Reynolds said. And don't worry about the medical supplies. Stimulants are highly available on the black market. Serenity's -- lousy with them."

Danny grinned. "A'right. Seeya."

Mal turned to Simon and give a significant, slight jerk of his head in the direction of Jayne.

"Yes. Ah. Uh-- Kaylee."

Kaylee nodded and slipped down from her stool, keeping her place in the book with one thumb. "I'll finish it later. We're almost at the end."

"Well, something better happen fast, then, if we're close to the end," Jayne told her.

Simon saw Kaylee out the infirmary hatch; Mal's face showed expectation which Simon did not feel ready to respond to. He prepared himself without meeting Mal's gaze.

Jayne broke the silence. "Got kinda a limited lot of options, here."

"Ah. Yes. I wanted to suggest an option. Well, Jayne, you see, if we get the funds, you could go to a big Alliance-affiliated corporate hospital."

"What for?"

"They may be able to fit you with a substitute electrical impulse system and give you some semblance of autonomous motion in the affected limbs. In the meantime I suggest we manually exercise them so they don't lose potential."

"What?"

"Um. A high tech hospital. Could help you."

"You want me to be some land doc's patient? No ruttin' way. I'm keepin' my legs."

"Not contested! Nobody ever said anything about taking your legs, Jayne."

"They'll get better on their own."

"Doc says they may'n't," said Mal.

"Well Doc ain't smart enough to know everything." Jayne frowned, shoving the side of his fist onto the bedclothes repeatedly as if jabbing a knife into the mattress. "Mal, you'll say what oughta be done. But I ain't goin' to no hospital. It don't make sense leaving me there and forgetting about me."

Simon's first instinct was to reassure. "Nobody's going to forget about you." The words sounded hollow once he had them out. He dropped his eyes in defeat.

"Leave me alone," said Jayne. "Send Kaylee back in. She ain't paid so much attention to me since long afore Simon joined on crew."

Simon made a move to retrieve Kaylee. Jayne abruptly thundered, "No hospitals. Not an option. Strike that one out."

Simon rubbed his aching temples. "Very well, Jayne. Allow me to get Kaylee for you."

"Yeah. Thanks." Jayne sank back on his bed.

"Doc. Outside."

"Captain."

They signed for Kaylee to come in from the lounge and shut the hatch.

"He can't work, without legs. Is what you're sayin'?"

"Captain," Simon began. "You understand what I've explained to you so far?"

"He's sustained himself an incomplete spinal cord injury. Means something from his brain's getting below the point where he got injured at. But his legs are paralyzed anyway. Would seem to be complete injury to me. What're you gonna do about it?"

Simon shook his head. "I can't answer you the way you need me to. I can't do anything. I've told you the alternative. I'm one man in a minimally equipped Firefly cargo ship. An injury of this kind makes Jayne more susceptible to infection, heart failure, all kinds of problems people can fall prey to. He's much more vulnerable. And I wouldn't want to subject him to the kind of difficulties--"

"I don't wanna hear that he's vulnerable. He got any of those problems now?"

"We're still evaluating his status. It's likely he will develop--"

"Doc, I don't like you tellin' what bad could happen, unless there's something I can do to stop it, or it makes a real interesting story."

"His spine is prone to further serious injury, and I won't be responsible-- " Simon saw the telltale expression on Mal which showed that the next thing Captain Reynolds did was to be a disciplinary action.

"Fix him. So he can work. Or you're off my ship."

Firefly: Just a Little Favor for a Friend Pt. 17

2009-04-12T01:56:24Z

Daniel

***

Haven came. "What's going--" she looked at the bandaging gun in Simon's hand. "Did he get shot? And what's he doing on the deck?"

Simon nodded. "I did it."

"Why, wasn't he comatose enough before?"

"I did that, too. I doped him again. I've been... keeping him... wait. Wait, he wasn't seizing. He was sitting up and he vocalized at least once, and wasn't seizing."

Haven scratched at her brow under her cap. "What's going on, exactly?"

"Cap'n said they ain't zombies," Kaylee offered.

"That's what I like about working this boat," the pilot said. "Everyone on the crew makes so much sense and I really get a feel for what everyone's been doi--"

Mal trod heavily through the infirmary hatch. He was hauling a case of medicines and the patient from the salvaged cryo box.

Simon accused Haven, "Didn't you shut the door?"

"No, like I said--"

Simon cut in, to Mal. "Did you count the dead ones? Did you get them?"

Mal looked bulkheadward as he ticked off in his mind how many cryo boxes there had been, minus the one live man they took out, minus the man who was already dead, plus how many they'd shot down with visual confirmation. "All. Or most, anyhow, I conjure."

"Most." Simon blinked.

"Or all, yeah." Mal looked down. "What's Cobb doing on the deck?"

"Simon shot him."

"You shot Jayne? I oughta cuff you upside the head."

Simon glared. "I can shoot him any time I want. I saved his life."

"Save another one." Mal thunked the Alliance vessel's human cargo, clad in an Alliance researcher's coat, down on the decking near where Doc crouched.

Simon blinked. "There's a bed..." he began to say, glancing at the spare med-bed, but Mal went on, pointing briefly at the unconscious young man.

"If you care to try. Begun looking a mite wrong. Noticed he was off on his breathing, after we took care of your hyperviolent criminals."

At the mention of "hyperviolent criminals", Simon rose from his crouch and arched away from the white, silent form Mal had laid on the deck. In an instant of staring, though, Doc registered the stillness of his patient and dove back in to work. "He's crashing. I need--" his hand reached automatically for a stimulant, when again he paused, telling Mal, "Have no choice, here. I do wish I knew what dose to use to bring a man around without turning him into a zombie."

"Don't they teach you that kind of stuff in medical academy?" Kaylee asked in a small, hopeful voice.

"Yes. They do." Simon injected the medication, listened to the patient's heart and stepped back as if he'd lit a fuse. "They say, 'Zombies? Stop being irrational, Tam.'"

Zoe stepped into the infirmary with River right behind her just as Simon administered the stimulant. She watched as everyone moved closer to solid objects; Mal's hand went toward his gun but then he didn't take hold of it, as if he didn't want to look worried. Simon's mistrust rubbed off on everyone in the infirmary except Zoe, who moved closer and looked down at the patient as his eyes shot open and he looked up at her. He flailed and shouted. Everyone flinched, Simon almost jumped back, and Zoe gave them all a slightly puzzled look, which included one flickered glance at Jayne's position on the floor. She frowned, and said, "He's just a kid."

The stranger's eyes cleared and he looked up at Zoe, to her mare's leg on her hip and her fine, skeptically raised eyebrow, and said, "Say. You wouldn't know anything about breaking into a combo pad, would you? Ain't a simple combo pad, but I know the combo part. Got it in my head. So if you could get in after that..."

Zoe was astonished.

"For a share in whatever it is you're doing here, I'll show you something guaranteed to be valuable, if you'll take me back to the ship you got me out of."

"He's barely awake, barely got clothes back on him and he's wanting a share in our job. What's your name, Son?" Mal asked.

"Daniel. McBride." He began to sit up, rubbing his temples. "Come with me to the ship I came from and I'll show you something."

"Just a minute. Help me here, Ducky." Mal motioned the pilot towards Cobb.

River stood at Jayne's feet and leaned way over to look toward his face. She spoke softly. "You killed him again."

"He was never dead to begin with," reminded Simon.

River shuffled back as Ducky and Mal helped hoist Jayne back into his med-bed. "I brought you some supplies. To help," she told her brother.

Simon looked. "I'm not using any needles from that ship," he said, frustrated. "Put them in sharps."

Mal crouched and fixed Daniel McBride with a penetrating gaze. "Now tell me-- I'm the captain on this ship-- how'd you come to be on that boat?"

McBride was flat on his back again. He had his fingers spread over his eyes but lifted his hand. "Got me out of prison," he muttered willingly.

"Hah-- I knew it. Prisoners."

"Well, yah and no," McBride rolled his eyes to look at Captain Reynolds. "I wa'n't their prisoner. They bought me out of prison. I think they was... using me for experiments."

"You and the others?"

"Sure. I think."

"What is this combo lock you wanted to show us?"

"What kind of experiments?" Simon asked, but Daniel McBride answered Mal.

"It's a safe." The patient sat up again and rubbed at the back of his head. "I saw 'em when they were bringing me on. I was in bonds but I saw 'em take money out-- cash money. They bought me. Was but one man knew the combo and if he got out and off, cash's gone."

Mal nodded. "But if not-- well, there's enough else to go back for, anyhow, that's sure, and you can help us carry it. And we'll look at this lock. Any idea if it's trapped? As long as you don't pull signaling the Alliance once we're back on that ship."

"What'd I do that for? Don't know if it's trapped, but I can tell you, exactly, how the head man got in."

"Good enough for me," said Zoe.

Simon looked consternated.

"Come on. Hup--" Mal lifted Daniel by a wrist. "Zoe, here."

Daniel persisted. "Is it worth a share? To get the information?"

"Look, if you're straight with me, it's worth a share."

Zoe nodded agreement with Mal's words. "I'm Zoe."

"'n I'm Danny. Like I said." The boy grinned, showing rotten teeth.

"Alright. Come along. And if you get that share, use it to do something about your teeth." Mal and Zoe and Danny left without conversation with the rest.

Ducky raised one eyebrow at Simon, who responded by focusing entirely on Jayne. She then departed for the bridge to monitor the sky, and Simon turned to the mechanic who was still perched worriedly on a stool. "Kaylee. Now."

Kaylee assumed her most pathetic expression as Simon worked on her lower neck and upper shoulder where the man from the infirmary vessel had scraped her. Simon took his time, giving her an encouraging pat occasionally and listening for signs of stress from the now steadily breathing Cobb or sounds of disaster from the bridge.

"I'm going to go fly the ship," said River.

Simon paused for an instant while Kaylee looked for one moment in alarm at River. Then he said, "If by that you mean that we, as the crew of Serenity, are not going anywhere, and especially not without our captain and his First Mate, and most particularly not when they are rummaging around on a dangerous piece of property with a seriously unknown quantity, and that you are also not planning on unseating Haven and taking off in the presence of Alliance authorities in the sky who might or might not be much more dangerous were we to show ourselves, and who would under many circumstances attack a flying vessel such as our own, and instead you mean that you are going to tiptoe out the cargo bay door and mount the bridge and take over the controls of one of the potentially trapped trash vessels in this vicinity NO YOU ARE NOT."

Several minutes passed.

"Then I'm going to draw bunnies."

"Make a pink--" Kaylee began. She stopped and turned toward the sound of Mal reentering the infimary with Daniel McBride, who was, as before, unconscious. Zoe stepped in quietly behind them.

Simon almost shouted. "Now what?"

Mal thunked the patient to the deck more carefully this time. "Got some cash. Kid was right. I conjure the fella in charge of operating capital was killed and that's the one who owned the watch Zoe found."

"But the-- why is he unconscious?"

"Went mad on us. Had to whack him in the head."

Simon paused with mouth open for awhile before anything came out. "Why didn't you just... shoot him?"

"He's in on our job, now. Couldn't. Wouldn't be right, Doc. We're accustomed to tantrums on this boat. Here. Make sure he comes around slow. Zoe, put this cash in our own safe and we'll divide it up even with the other stuff we got."

"I'm-- I'm sorry, I must have overdosed the patient on the stimulant. It's not that I want you to shoot people," Simon told his captain as Mal disappeared from the infirmary. "I mean it's good that he--" he stared at the again out-cold Daniel McBride. This time there was no disconcerting loss of color. Doc gave him a mild sedative but forwent the painkiller in case discomfort might slow the boy down if he woke up and got out of hand.

"You want help to get him on the spare bed?" Kaylee offered.

"Yeah. Yes. Be careful."

"Captain in here?" Ducky poked her head in.

"You just missed him."

Zoe turned to Ducky. "Alliance birds gone?"

"They seem to be. We may be good to go. Better get while the getting's good."

"A trip or two, to finish the job," Zoe told her. "We brought some cargo, but Cap'n had one hand full with the kid."

"I'll tell the captain. We'll put everything in its place when we're in the sky."

Zoe nodded and headed out, River at her heels.

Finishing took more than two trips while Haven watched the monitors. She had brought Serenity up to full operating power; when Mal told her all in, she broke atmo and set off at a good clip towards the pick-up point where they were to meet Dr. Driscoll.

Mal directed organization of the cargo bay. "With this shiny hovercart we picked up we can take some of the old cargo to where it's supposed to go-- a lot's been put off since Jayne has been out of action."

Once Serenity was safely into space, Haven joined the crew, minus Kaylee and Simon who were seeing to Cobb's needs. Mal turned to her. "Obscure the Alliance insignia on the take from the infirmary vessel?"

"Yes!" The pilot pumped an arm in enthusiasm. "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

"Personal rebellion in full swing, I notice."

"Bet on it. Whee!"

This work was in progress when Daniel McBride walked in haltingly.

"Danny. Ready to work?" Captain Reynolds lifted a crate onto Ducky's pile.

"When did I get hit on the head?"

"Bit ago. You remember?"

Danny's accent had a drawl and a lilt. "Naw, I guessed. I have a wound on my head and it goes right with being hit hard."

"That'd be at my hand," the captain told him. "On the Alliance ship you took me and Zoe back to for a safe break. Want to work with us? Feel ready?"

"Alright, like as anything to be good luck, going with you."

"You gotta agree for us: all your tantrums, if you're gonna have 'em, are to take place when one of us can knock you cold."

"I can't decide," said Ducky as Danny snapped a salute, "if this is nothing like flying for the Alliance, or exactly like it."

"Hey, Danny," Zoe called from her work, "what'd you do, anyway, that got you sent to the prison the Alliance bought you out of?"

"I didn't do anything illegal that time," Daniel McBride frowned. "But for my record, what do yethink? Stole some things. Not of the caliber you've got going, though."

River dropped what she was doing and went over to Danny. "Do you know I'm River?"

"River. Ah, good old River Rose." Danny sang slowly:

River rose, flooded old garden
Rose flew up
Floated away
Rose away my River Rose
flows away my River
my Rose
Rose up river
floods old graveyard
Roses marked my dear one's stone.
Roses now where there's no marker
Petals flowed and roses gone.

"I think you remembered it wrong," said River, trilling her r's in a match with Danny's. "Roses growed and stone is gone." `

"Aw, well, I was drunk the last time I heard it, Lass."

Simon entered the cargo bay, eyed the scene and came up beside Mal. He hesitated a moment, watching River sighing and humming to herself as she did a gentle dance step. "My sister seems to like our escaped convict."

"And that's good enough for me, for now." Mal raised his voice. "McBride! Less ballad, more cargo, Lad."

Simon's voice held an accusing tone. "You trust him?"

"I trust him about as far as I can throw him, Doc."

"So that's from, say, where's he's standing to about..."

Mal measured with his eye and hand. "Corner by the bay door, and if my conjuration's right he should hit aways up with some force and kind of crumple down the wall."

Nostalgia and Mastery

2009-04-06T16:49:34Z

I'm still working on Firefly fanfiction. I've been working on it in notes right along (kind of-- I hit a snag for awhile), but I've been sitting on a nearly-finished part for several months. I have the stuff that needs to go at the end of the part, and haven't finished it.

I think it's funny that LJ's spellcheck chokes on "fanfiction" as one word.

I'm so nostalgic. I don't know what's up with that this time. It's not the same as going out to 'lanic City. It's very centered. It's pining, but more for things to come this way than for me to waste away or go back.

I am a grasshopper who has a lot to learn. Today is the first day of my new job-- that is, the job I assigned for myself once I recently realized it's costing me too much to work. What I found out last night in yet another skimming of a journal about housekeeping is that it's pointless to look at that stuff anymore. I already know how to do what I'm doing. If it is possible to do this job, I am the one who can do it.

Staying home and farm/house keeping sounds easy, in a sense, and budgeting to be cheaper to keep sounds easy, too, but I've already discovered this morning what some of my issues have always been with this.

For one, I'm a bad breakfast eater. I always have been. It's always seemed pointless to me since I starve by ten-thirty no matter what I eat earlier, and I hate eating breakfast because I'm not a morning person and my whole body rebels at eating at that time. Still, for good and well-known health and grocery budget reasons, my rule is I'd better have eaten breakfast by 10:30. I was a half-hour behind, this morning, but I didn't fall into the trap of previous days at home (before I made this my job) where I'd run out and mow the lawn and be sick as a dog before eating anything and useless the rest of the day. I found out something: I got terribly nervous while making breakfast, and finally correctly pegged it as fear of having to eat the stuff and failing. Told myself I only had to make it, not eat it, and that worked. I ate most of the stuff anyway.

artie has planned out a program with me whereby I provide her with lunches and she pays for them but it still saves her money. I love packing lunches for other people. That went well the first time out. Hopefully she'll enjoy it and it'll work for her in the long-term.

I'm on at work (here at the house) today, having arbitrarily assigned my on and off days ahead of time. I'm in the clear to be on LiveJournal, because I have to do a series of tasks by the end of the day; that is, they aren't all mapped out (except preparing tonight's supper and planning and partially preparing tomorrow's and doing pet care), but I have to pick out something to do in every area of the property. Since I've declared I have to finish in the evening if I didn't during the day, on any day in which outdoor work is possible, I should logically do that first. We never did get the snowstorm we were supposed to get. So I can start whenever I like, and stop, as long as I get it done at some pace or another.

Something from conversation on irc last night ended up with my doing push-ups this morning. Sort of. I did "five"-- but I arched my back weakly a little (or maybe a lot if I were observing as an outsider) and I think I pulled something in my right arm. Then I did one good one and a half of another good one. *eyeroll*

I think I found all my files on my disks and hard drive that have conversations about and between Beckey / me and Ace / his reincarnation. Nowhere do I find Ace's description of his experience with the night he passed away in a car accident. I remember him talking about having put his wallet and multiple ID's in a locker, then leaving his coat and the locker key elsewhere when he ha-- well, I won't go into the details. It has to do with what happened to everybody else that night. But maybe we talked about it on the phone. Anyway, he ended up in a lady's coat and in a car which crashed on the way home.

I feel like something different is going on. A lot of starting... over. I don't want to start over with these freaks. *ribs them*

I have a lot of work to do on my other exciting project of Marvel soundtracks! I found out why people balk even when they come and ask you to do them. (Tony started it.) They began doing one for me. It's like having a nerve plucked. It makes you feel really weird. Like the Visible Man. I think that's why Tony S.'s is going to be twenty songs long. He's hiding in there rather than extraordinarily exposed. But it gives you a picture of the guy. And he wants those songs in there for reasons I'm slowly finding out. For instance, it took me months to be unblockheaded enough to realize that "Treat Her Like a Lady" by the Temptations refers to a machine. But Steve and Bucky's is short and intensely communicative. They have the same soundtrack but whose song is whose is blindingly obvious. (Saying that now means that later I'll totally see how all the songs switch from one to the other, such as when Bucky finally does get cut down a bit as Jeff says he needs.) But -- hard to explain. I have to do a lot of work and I'm looking forward to it.

Edited to add: Well, I already changed my mind about one thing. I'm more relaxed and productive in general if every day is an "on" day (though I'm glad I took the day off over the weekend after leaving the outside job).

Stark White Red Dwarf

2008-07-29T21:03:02Z

Thank you for your indulgence while I sidetrack from Firefly into Red Dwarf for a moment. From Feech and Arnold "I Hope You're Happy" Rimmer to Chan.

The subject header / title is from a dream.

****

SCENE: RIMMER and LISTER'S quarters, Red Dwarf. HOLLY listens as RIMMER gestures and expounds. LISTER smokes and plays a game in which a ball bearing must be sunk in a hole in a cardboard cutout.

RIMMER: We'll paint the corridors stark white. Like gallery walls. This ship should be a place of cultural purity, of relaxation and respite between our harrowing endeavors. Of course, I'll need Kryten to build me some black matting for my calligraphy.

LISTER: Rimmer, writing isn't fine art.

RIMMER: (without pause, shaking a finger at LISTER) And I'll thank you to dress better than that for the gallery opening and reception.

LISTER: Why. Is that what you're wearing?

RIMMER: No. I intend to wear a suit and tie. Anyway, Lister, certain types of writing are in fact legitimate, transcendent forms of self-expression and cultural... transcendency. Just because you feel a searing ache in the base of your skull when anyone presents you with something to read doesn't mean others of us won't be uplifted by it.

LISTER: Yeah? Like who? Cat reads with his nose.

RIMMER: Cat is a beast. A lower life-form. One of the reasons I want this gallery is to show that some of us on this ship are still human, if not fully so.

LISTER: Well, I'm fully human and I intend to legitimately express my innermost feelings with spray-paint as soon as your soothing stark white walls are up. I can't wait. I haven't done a good graffiti on something that's really deserved it since Earth.

RIMMER: You do, Lister, and I'll see to it the punch at the reception is non-alcoholic.

LISTER: You wouldn't dare.

RIMMER: Try me.

LISTER: (As ball bearing rolls into hole) Yeah!

RIMMER: (Eyeing HOLLY) I hope you've fitted me for the right suit. I don't want to show up in anything too over-the-top.

HOLLY: It's taken care of, Arnold.

LISTER: (EXITing quarters, rolling ball in cardboard again) The only thing worth it about this imaginary upper-class git exercise is seeing how the Cat's going to turn out for the goings-on. Oughta be splendid.

HOLLY: I think it's a nice idea, Arnold.

RIMMER: I knew you'd agree with me. There must be at least one IQ point in the handful you have left with some molecule of a sense of cultural preservation.

HOLLY: Well, it's not so much that as that I like to think of you and the scutters working on your calligraphy.

RIMMER: Huh? Why's that?

HOLLY: Well it's something you enjoy, isn't it. And it's funny how you get into these absolutely absurd uses of language trying to describe what they're doing wrong.

RIMMER: What are you talking about?

HOLLY: Never mind. I was just trying to say something nice.

RIMMER: Why?

HOLLY: It's pointless dropping hints. You're never gonna guess. But you could try.

RIMMER: Guess what? Try to guess what?

HOLLY: Why I'd try to be nice to an insufferable, self-absorbed person such as yourself.

RIMMER: Random insults? Trying to be nice seems to be the exact opposite of what you're doing, you rotten, old, slow-processing electronic coffee pot disguised as a ship's computer.

HOLLY: Hey. I make good coffee.

RIMMER: Show me a corridor plan so I can plot out which themes will go where in our gallery.

HOLLY: (Projects a schematic, which RIMMER eagerly looks over)

RIMMER: Yes, yes, this should do fine for the longer verse poetry. It really flows well into the experience of the display of my old uniforms and medals. Nice, refreshing changes after a couple of hours of the live-recorded, framed readings.

HOLLY: I love you, Arnold.

RIMMER: (Absently) What's that?

HOLLY: You heard me.

RIMMER: I heard you say something absolutely goity and insane, if that's what you mean. And here, yes, here is where I think we'll put some really fantastic color. I think some repeated pictures of me re-exposed in pink, orange, and camouflage green.

HOLLY: Ugh. You in orange?

RIMMER: You think pink then.

HOLLY: It's preferable. Or perhaps just black and they can imagine you in the picture.

RIMMER: I'm treading near considering that as an insult.

HOLLY: Or overexposed so the whole thing looks white. You're not listening to me and I'm peeved. Of course I'm going to lash out a little. You can expect it. I'm a little vulnerable with being in love, right?

RIMMER: What I can't understand is where on Earth you managed to come across a fresh produce vendor.

HOLLY: How do you mean?

RIMMER: You seem to have purchased for yourself a heaping quantity of gourds and proceeded to go off the whole smegging pile.

HOLLY: Once upon a time, for just one little minute, it was just you and me, Arn.

RIMMER: What? You and me, that's a nightmare.

HOLLY: Remember when Kryten developed those photo slides and you could travel in time? Remember when you and I were the last ones left after Dave went off and invented the Tension Sheet?

RIMMER: Yes, I remember. I turned live again for about three minutes and then died in an explosion.

HOLLY: Well, yeah, you did a bit, later. But for a minute, before you insisted on rescuing Lister from a successful life of fame and sexual gratification, it was just you and me and Red Dwarf. I mean, I projected you to support Dave, didn't I. He's my responsibility, isn't he, as the last human being alive. But I love you, Arnold.

RIMMER: This is ridiculous. Computers can't feel love.

HOLLY: I can and I'll thank you not to look down this way on a state of the art technological advancement.

RIMMER: That's just it. You haven't been state of the art for three million years. That's truly the problem, isn't it. With all the company ships being out of commission eons ago, lack of computer companionship has driven you bonkers. I'll tell you what. Why don't you and the scutters get together-- have a bit of intimate fun. You could play Five Minutes in the Cache. Or Spin the Silicone Chip.

HOLLY: That's not how it works, Arnold.

RIMMER: Please. Spare me the details of how it works. The lurid sex life of billions of pieces of information degraded by time and overwork. Tell it to your artificially intelligent sex-positive counselor or somebody, not me.

HOLLY: I know you. That's basically what's caused it, near as I can tell. I'm not sure. Love begins to take on a life of its own, actually.

RIMMER: Ah, yes. Not unlike batty computers. But one doesn't control love, glorious love, in all its human flavors, whereas you are meant to drive a ship. You can't possibly understand the expansiveness of the emotion you're so lightly bandying about.

HOLLY: I don't have to understand it. I feel it.

RIMMER: How can I get you to stop?

HOLLY: Well, Arnold, if you were just about anyone else I might suggest you do something mean, or even bad. I might suggest a vice. Or some horrible backstabbing behavior I couldn't bear to see you do to anyone. I might tell you to insult me--

RIMMER: I know where this is going.

HOLLY: I might suggest that as one alternative you could try at being clueless, hopeless, nasty, almost entirely unskilled--

RIMMER: Hold it. Nasty. Nasty? Nasty is Lister's department. I may be a bastard, but I am not in any way, shape or form nasty. So what you're telling me-- correct me if I'm wrong--

HOLLY: Is there's nothing left you can do. You are one hundred percent the least desirable person in the known universe and I've desired you. Am doing now, in fact.

RIMMER: See, that's one of the many extraordinarily disturbing things about this revolting development, aside from the absurdity of a romantically infatuated machine. It's unheard of anybody's being infatuated with me, Arnold Rimmer. Why couldn't you make me better? I mean, all in all I am, of course, the best example of officership and gentlemandom you could hope to find anywhere, but perhaps there just might, allowing for a miniscule slice of probability, be a few small, little, tiny, miniature things that could perhaps allow for what some might call improvement.

HOLLY: Now that I'm in love with you I can't very well do that, can I?

RIMMER: You mean you like-- love-- me the way I am?

HOLLY: That's what I'm saying, Arnold.

RIMMER: Shit.

HOLLY: I knew you'd be nasty to me.

RIMMER: Of course I'm nasty. What did you expect-- ... Oh. I just told you nasty is Lister's domain, didn't I.

LISTER: (Poking head in hatchway) Rimmer and Holly sittin' in a tree...

RIMMER: Out! You horrid, eavesdropping little-- door close! Smegging little burst blister. No punch for you! You hear me? No punch, Lister!

LISTER: (Backing out as hatch closes) Are you gonna have a lot of little disembodied faces with teeny tiny adorable H's on their foreheads? Is this a good neighborhood for hologrammatic private schools?

RIMMER: (Shouting after LISTER) Anyway it's not true, none of it! Holly spouts gibberish! She's nuts-- she's crazy! I'm trying to reason with her to save her sanity and it's not working and I'll have you know the whole idea is completely without any basis in fact. It's too bad Holly's a senile, decrepit, ancient, dilapidated piece of filthy space trash who'd be trailing drool constantly if she weren't a mere electronic bauble that's on the fritz and hopelessly beyond repair even if we could get the warranty from Earth.

(Hatch is closed, quarters silent)

RIMMER: I love you, too, Holly. Gah! Forget I said that.

HOLLY: Very well, Arnold. Erasing now.

feech @ 2008-06-06T22:01:00

2008-06-07T03:16:48Z

viqsi invited me to talk about my meager supply of icons for that icon meme.

This is from a sketch I drew of my blacktailed buck irc form. Chan made it into an icon for me because I needed an icon for a forum or something. I had all these drawings and nothing but this one would seem to work all that well. So, Buck.

Witness the plaid shirt. See the dark, scary forest in the background. It's Dale!

This is me, Oct. 1909 - Oct. 1947. Closest I could come on one of those South Park sites. :)

There are some beautiful icon ideas I could have if I cared to steal them for the remaining free slots I have! Graham, for instance. There's this glorious picture of Graham. There are several more I could have if I would/could make icons, such as the Orangina/Highlander one (this started because, for whatever reason, Chan started saying, for the expression indicating the sensation of another Immortal nearby, "I could go for an Orangina right now." I have this whole image sequence worked up). And, I suppose I could put together, without any pictures, the Serenity flapjack sequence. Chan knows what I'm talking about. I was never supposed to write it down, though, and I fear I've lost the rhythm/key lines.

Um... feel free to consider yourselves tagged for the meme?

Just a Little Favor for a Friend Pt. 16

2007-12-28T02:48:24Z

Jayne Cobb's Resemblance to a Hyper-Violent Criminal
***

The third box that Simon had opened, the one he had slid the lid back on due to the smell, was still closed. The black room was lit in one streak by Kaylee's small handheld torch which she had been using to scrutinize the box she was salvaging. When they were not bent over their work in the bay, the white glow from behind the boxes barely rounded out the lines of Simon and Kaylee's cheekbones and knees. Simon peered into the shadow for any hint of the outline of other human limbs or eyes.

"They're awake?" Kaylee asked, staring at Simon, her back and shoulders shivering as she turned from the empty bays. "They're alive?"

"I ought to be overjoyed right now. They're dead, but not really dead."

"Oh, if they're alive, that's good, right?"

"Somehow I've never, ever been comfortable with that concept."

"Where d'you think they--"

Simon ducked abruptly, using his weight to pull Kaylee forward and down with him. She barely got her neck out of the way of a rushing force, and the upper part of her shoulder and lower side of her neck were bruised and scraped by fingernails and teeth. In missing a solid blow on Kaylee, the plaster-white naked figure lost his balance and fell over the cryo box. Simon shoved his foot past Kaylee, under her torso, and kicked at the bay panel to keep it from opening further. He then reached over her to push the panel repeatedly onto the attacker's ribcage. Kaylee screamed. The man's skin showed damage where Simon was intently battering him, but he was grunting and struggling backward. Kaylee tried to skitter away and turned to find a white face before her eyes, stepping into the vague light and opening its mouth soundlessly. Again Simon ducked, taking her with him, and the first man squirmed out of the bay, taking heaving gasps. The other one's glassy eyes widened as he reached with blackened fingertips towards Kaylee's head.

"Give me your wrench," Simon held out a hand to Kaylee. She slapped a small tool in his hand and he held it up, advanced, then realized how inadequate all this felt and tried to head for the door. The standing man feinted in the same direction. Kaylee whimpered and rubbed her shoulder. "Guns," said Simon. "We're armed."

"Oh, right." Kaylee lifted her pistol wrapped in both hands and squeezed her eyes shut, aiming in the general direction of the threat. She missed on several tries. Simon was more deliberate, taking a shot that grazed the man, but this meant the door was blocked, for the shot seemed to anger the individual and he came forward instead of going back. Simon fired again and laid him flat out. "Go over him to the door, Kaylee," he tried to tell her, wheezing as if he had been wounded. "We should by all rights be saving them. If they had been alive to begin with. Why in the 'verse am I shooting them?"

Kaylee went for the door, picking her way over the twitching, erstwhile dead man. "I hear bare footsteps," she quivered.

Every edge in the room seemed to move, yet it was eerily still. When he stiffened and listened, Simon heard only the hum of the working parts of the cryogenic bays and his own heartbeat.

"Your gun. Use your gun. Hold it up and give a warning. Fire into the corridor if nobody answers you."

"Our crew all wear boots!"

"Not always. Not my sister."

"Shit. Shit, Simon, shit. River didn't come with us."

River entered the room, lowering her gun. "I've come now. I killed one on the way down."

"Why did you leave Serenity?" Simon stared at her and ignored the drooling creature behind him whom he'd been slamming in the panel. River pointed. He turned, fired, and missed. River took several steps closer and fired point blank to the man's head before his hand could swipe her. Kaylee gasped at the head shot and when Mal and Zoe entered loudly, with proportional clumping of boots in the corridor, she flung herself across to Mal and clung to him.

"I came to save Kaylee," River answered her brother's earlier question.

Doc turned slowly from gazing at the man she'd shot and prompted, with dark incredulity, "And Simon."

River conceded, "And Simon. And to bring a message from Duck Pilot. She was sending me, but I didn't have time to get my boots, because of Kaylee."

"Your timing's good," Mal told her.

A shadow in the room moved and became lighter. It launched its splotched body at River, who nailed it in the cheek with a kick and sent it spinning across the deck. Mal gently unwound Kaylee with one hand and fired, flattening the attacker.

Simon gaped.

"Everything's alright now," River, her breath catching slightly, turned to Mal to say. Then she nodded at the corridor. "Behind you, Captain."

Mal came forward, in front of the new attacker's lunge. He stopped the onrush with a crack to the chin while opening a space for Zoe. The man wheeled back, groping, and Zoe fired. Down he went with a rattling growl. Kaylee ducked into a crouch and put one hand over her head, shivering.

Simon murmured, "My God, they're zombies."

"Easy, there." Mal kicked at the fallen one behind him to shine a yellow light on the face. The nose and upper cheeks seemed as if they had been stained with oily charcoal. "Ain't zombies. Just got their skin partly frozen by a faulty cryo containment system. That ain't a dead man. I mean, it is now."

Simon breathed, balancing with his hands on his shins and holding his head down as if he'd been running a far distance. "Why are they attacking us?"

Still in her covered crouch, Kaylee squeaked, "Are they evil? They're evil, ain't they. Like-- Reavers."

"Ain't zombies, ain't Reavers. They're just hyperviolent criminals in a confused state."

"Thanks, Captain, that's comforting," Doc found breath to say.

Zoe backed up to Mal to close ranks as another naked figure leapt snarling from the shadows. Mal re-cocked his gun. "Well, time to kill 'em."

Simon promptly hid behind his sister. River took pity and explained, "Simon, you have a gun. All you have to do to save the day is fire it off, like this." She lifted and fired in one smooth motion at a space that to Simon's eyes was empty. A clammy, dark body leapt in the moment River's gun fired, met the force of the shot, kept forward in the leap that became a twitch and fell motionless on the deck at Doc's toes.

This was enough for Simon. He scrambled for the door despite not knowing what other loose, thawed criminals may have gotten beyond it. He looked back for Kaylee, who was bunched with her gun in one hand and her other hand over her head. River was scanning the room. Mal and Zoe had moved in past the hatch just enough that Simon could dash between them and the frame, and he did so, exhorting Zoe to get Kaylee back to Serenity as he went. Zoe nodded, picking Kaylee up by an elbow.

Mal spoke to Zoe, low, avoiding Kaylee's hearing. "We ain't really goin' back to Serenity yet. Let Doc and Kaylee think so, let 'em go, but no reason to leave all these goods. Get 'em on their way to Serenity and just come on back."

Zoe nodded firmly. River watched their departure over her shoulder, gun at the ready.

"I could still shoot 'em," Kaylee told her as she trotted to keep up with the grasp on her elbow. "If they ain't real people any more."

Zoe saw Kaylee out to the main hatch of the infirmary vessel. The mechanic easily caught up to Simon on the rough terrain. They stopped at the open cargo door of Serenity.

Simon advanced with caution. "Why'd she leave this door open? Haven?" There was no answer from the gloomy ship's interior, so he went to the intercom. "Haven?" In the long pause, he looked at Kaylee, who shrugged.

Simon quickly became frustrated. "Where--"

"Hey," came from behind them. Simon jumped. Kaylee almost squeaked.

"Why'd you come back without cargo?" Haven asked. "Need help?"

Simon questioned sternly, "How long has the cargo door been open?"

"Since I sent River over. Why?"

"There may be intruders. Did you see anyone enter?"

Haven looked instantly alarmed. "No."

"They're sneaky," Kaylee alerted her worriedly.

Haven shrugged. "In that case, they're either not on board, or I've been fooled. Want to help me hunt them out if they're here? And did River tell you?"

"She said she came to deliver a message from you. Come on, Kaylee, I have to have a look at your shoulder and neck. You can tell us on the way, Duck-- Haven, and close this door."

"Kaylee's hurt? Close this door? But, Doc, the crew'll be wanting to get in on foot without the communicators," Haven kept a double-paced step to match his stride. "I had River go in the first place to avoid radio communication, in case the Alliance bird picks it up. We're playing junk ship, and she doesn't seem to be sniffing us out, but they're circling an awful lot like there's something they want lying down here. So we're gonna stay black. I shut down everything but bare auxilliary. Let me know if you'll need more in the infirmary."

"I sha'n't right now," said Simon. "And yes, Kaylee's harmed." Kaylee was trotting along, being pulled by the elbow once more.

"What's going on over at the scrap vessel? Why did intruders attack you? Did they know--"

"I don't think they know much of anything," Simon said grimly, and Kaylee furrowed her brow.

"Well, I'll just go back to the bridge." Haven gestured over her shoulder with a thumb and backed up. "Anything you ought to tell me about these intruders?"

"They're naked, mindless killers."

"Okay," said Haven.

Simon and Kaylee entered the dim infirmary. Lines of red light showed the edge of the counter and the outline of the hatch. "Sit on that stool."

Kaylee shuffled over. "Can it hurt me?" Kaylee began to rub at her bruise, winced and sat on her hand. "Can it really hurt me? Like-- like zombies turn people--"

"It's only a human, Kaylee. Mal says so, so it must be true."

Kaylee nodded in complete agreement at the infallible nature of Captain Reynolds' knowledge and information, yet resumed, with some hesitation. "In stories with zombies they can always--"

"Turn you into one of them, I know. There's always an antidote, too."

"Cap'n'll get 'em all, won't he?"

"Sure. Of course. Captain Reynolds, Zoe and my little baby sister are taking care of the violent part. Tilt your--"

Simon started and turned around to follow the gaze of Kaylee's widened eyes. He knew precisely where Jayne was located, but any motion other than Cobb's hitched breathing was unexpected and the shape looming over the med-bed demanded action.

Kaylee opened her mouth to speak, but Simon drew his gun. Then she let out a scream. After Simon fired, the familiar roar alerted him. He rushed forward to Jayne, who was leaning and clutching the air in Doc's direction. He watched him halting forward on the bed, raced through the potential effects of being in close proximity to a confused, now gunshot Jayne, grabbed the nearest back-up dose of anaesthetic and injected it. He tried to push Cobb back, but Jayne groaned and rolled off the bed. Simon tried to break the fall, but the tiger thunked to the deck; Simon grunted, trying to keep him up. Slowly Kaylee came and helped lay him out straight, then they looked at him. Simon shook himself and tried to find the bullet wound. "Go tell Haven I need full back-up active in the infirmary."

Kaylee used the intercom while Simon felt over Jayne.

"Did you hurt him?" Kaylee hugged herself.

"I knocked him out now."

"Did you hurt him with the gun?"

"I think so. I heard him shout. Yes--" the lights came up to part power and Simon glanced up, looked down, blinked several times, and peered at the slow-breathing Jayne. "Sit down on the stool, Kaylee. I'll see to your wounds as soon as I patch him as best I can for the moment. I hope he didn't get any harm in coming off the bed."

Kaylee sat.

"Here it is." Simon clicked his tongue at the trickiness of the spot, but was somewhat calmed by the minor nature of the damage.

"He wasn't gettin' any prettier, anyway," Kaylee chuckled nervously.

Simon gave her a defeated, pragmatic half-smile, then collected a bandage gun to patch the spot on Jayne's arm where he'd managed to hit him.

"Kaylee."

Kaylee perched on her stool, clutching her elbows. When some time passed she prompted, "What?"

"I'm not having a good day."

Just a Little Favor for a Friend Pt. 15

2007-12-01T03:10:57Z

Infirmary Vessel
***
"Every time he starts to come out of it, he seizes. His coma is induced by medication, now. It's not safe to let him wake up. He could lose too much oxygen."

"Pretty grim. What does this mean? He just gonna lay there 'til he dies?"

Simon shook his head and gave no other answer, looking dejectedly at the galley table. Captain Reynolds passed him some food, which he ignored; River, having disdained her seat for the entire meal, flitted up behind Simon. "Cheer up," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Ben is coming."

"I just don't know, Mal," Simon admitted. He reached up to pat River's hand, then turned to glance at her, startled, having just absorbed her words. "Oh, no, River. Ben's not coming here. Did you take you--"

"I took my pills. Silly physician. He's coming here. I got a letter."

Simon looked wide-eyed from River to Mal, who nodded. "Sure. Your sister persuaded me it'd be good for you."

"Ben? On Serenity?"

"Got a problem with your brother, Doc?"

Simon sputtered. "Did you-- how did you even-- why didn't he write me? What did he say, River? Do you still have the letter? What do you mean, it'd be good for me? What's good about the rampant chaos that's going to ensue when a research physician encroaches on my infirmary? Please, enlighten me. I'm dumbfounded. Speechless. This isn't speech coming out of my mouth-- it's surprise. I'm surprised. Shocked, even. I need a drink." He went to the cabinet for one. Zoe watched him solemnly from the table; Haven ate placidly; Mal glanced up and then sprinkled salt on his twice-baked potatoes.

"He's jealous," River informed Captain Reynolds as she twirled past the dining crew members, between table and counter. "He's so missed having other doctors to holler at. It will benefit him to no end. He'll see."

"Doctors? Doctors?" Simon took a swig from the first bottle within convenient reach. "Colleagues. Frank exchanges of medical advice."

"Doctors," River nodded, arching her arms and placing her fingers together gracefully over her head.

"I didn't know you two had a brother," said Zoe quietly.

Simon stammered. "Brother in the genetic sense of the term." Then he grumbled into his bottle. "Didn't grow up in our house."

"Bring that over here, I could use some." Mal gestured and Simon leaned to meet his reach and give him the alcohol. Mal sniffed it, then poured it onto his squash.

"I want some!" River decided suddenly, taking her seat. Mal offered her a moderated portion, which she dove into as if the conversation had ended long ago. Simon came behind her chair and stroked back a lock of her hair that threatened to fall in her plate, then asked, "What did he say? Just tell me that?"

"He wrote to tell me he wanted to quit his work."

"His research work? Well, he is not going to want to work on a thieves' cargo ship, I know that much. And he doesn't have the touch for trauma work, or he would have stayed in his general practice. He's cold."

"This is just jealousy," River informed Mal and Zoe, while Simon's lip flinched. "He misses him. They always had to work near each other because Simon came up faster in education than Ben did, so even though Ben's older, there was a lot of competition, and everyone--"

"Excuse me, River, I am in the room!"

"Yes I know. So, cheer up. Ben's coming."

Simon let out his breath in a slow, chilled sigh and sat down, taking the bottle from where Mal had placed it by the salt shaker. "I can't see how you can stand to put this on squash. Don't we have any maple syrup? And Zoe, one of us has to get back to the infirmary in-- six minutes or less."

"I'll go. You hash out the situation with the new medic. I guess you ain't too happy about it."

"I'm not. I haven't seen him in how long? And I can't say as he's been--" suddenly Simon stopped and turned white.

River followed him when he left the table. She caught him up outside the infirmary door, where he had stopped to lean on the frame and was clearly not thinking of Jayne or infirmary work-- he had a black, inner look.

"You left without saying, 'Excuse me,'" she informed him.

"I'm such a cad."

She nodded. "Your choice of self-deprecating term is quaint."

"You know what I'm thinking--"

"Yes, I know." River rocked on her bare feet, heels, toes, back and forth. "You noticed."

"--that I am sitting at a table with Zoe, complaining about my own brother, and she would give anything to--"

"I could pet your hair, if it would make you feel better. You seem to always want to do it to me."

Simon almost smiled. "But, that's because you're my baby sister."

"If you think I'm a baby, then I need my two big brothers."

The almost-smile vanished. "You need him like I need him. Who needs him? Zoe ought to just know it's not pleasant to hear from him after all this time."

"Simon. Your embarrassment is how you're becoming someone I'm very proud of. When you can say these things to the faces of the people in question, then you'll be a grownup. You can grow up. Look how big you've gotten?"

Simon smirked, then hid a laugh with the side of his hand.

"Ben can't bring us any monitors," River said distantly.

"Oh, of course not," Simon responded. "They're too exp-- wait, he can't, right?"

"Right. But maybe he can bring us something else useful. Do you think?"

"How would I know? Maybe he's a thief and can bring us a stash of meds."

"Thief like we. But he hasn't stolen anything yet."

"Not yet. Look, tell Zoe I'm going to stay with Jayne."

River gave a half-smirk, not looking in his direction, and floated back to the galley, where she whispered an apology to Zoe on behalf of Doc.

"So I was thinking," Mal was informing the remaining dining crew, "that we'd stop off and pick up Ben Driscoll at his hospital port, since we ain't got a job lined up in any direction. So we might as well go over our prospects over that route."

Kaylee piped up. "This might be a good time to tell you about a stop we could mayhap make on the way."

"Oh? You got a job tip, now, Kaylee?"

Kaylee wiped her face with a napkin and stood up and left the galley. She returned with a pad with figures on it. "I got this information-- I mean, I was just on a call with... a friend, see, and somebody kinda suggested there might be a salvageable infirmary transport out here--" she pointed to the figures-- "that might be deliberately left to the last on a piracy prevention salvage coordination mission."

"Where in the black did you hear about this?"

During Kaylee's preparatory breath with her eyes to the ceiling, Zoe made a very slight headshake at her. Kaylee looked down at her questioningly, and Zoe stared at her meaningfully. Kaylee nodded, took a breath again, and said, "I can't tell you anything 'cept it ain't got nothing at all to do with Atherton Wing."

"Mm. That's good. Where are these coordinates?" Mal reached for the pad. "Oh, this is good. Excellent, even. Not too far out of the way. River, tell Ben we'll be there soon as we pick over this find. If it's in line of a piracy prevention crew, meaning Alliance vultures in shiny suits, they'll have their eye on it but they won't have any reason to strip it until they know somebody's got a nose on it. You just got this, Kaylee, right?"

"Right."

"Good girl."

Kaylee flushed and beamed.

"Buzzards," said Haven with a mouthful of squash.

"What, Duck Pilot?"

"Buzzards." Haven washed down her mouthful and repeated, "We call them buzzards."

"Used to, when you were 'we' with Alliance."

"Right."

"You called the pirate-skulkers buzzards?"

"Of course. You don't have the monopoly on unflattering terms."

Mal shrugged. "I had no idea you all weren't part of a hive mind."

Haven scoffed. "Even though you're my captain, watch your step."

"I always do." Mal lifted a boot. "It pays. Well, on our decks, anyway."

Haven laughed.

* * *

Simon licked at his teeth and looked untrustingly at the sidearm Mal had placed with him. "Why are Kaylee and I going into this armed? I had been looking forward to seeing an Alliance infirmary again, but you're putting me off my game. This sounds unhealthily like the plots of too many flicks. Horror-type flicks."

"What? You mean monsters eat the crew, remaining folks ditch the vessel to protect mankind?" Mal stepped out into the breathable air of the terraformed, sharply rocky landscape. "This is a junk yard. Why would those monsters hang about waiting for us?"

"I thought of it when you wondered aloud about the senselessness of this situation," Doc told him. "That's usually the first thing. And stepping out right now, like this, with Kaylee and myself armed--"

"Hey," Kaylee stopped him. "I can shoot this." She aimed her weapon at the nose of a resting vessel.

"Right. At something, and hit it, about as well as I can. Broad sides of barns aren't in constant supply in Captain Reynolds' adventures."

"Sure are," Mal corrected Simon. "Barns, trains, buildings and vehicles of all kinds. Come on, Doc. Never know what kind of brigands might have made a jump on this find. Ain't sensible how the Alliance has left it sitting here, if it has medic supplies on it. Spite, I conjure. Just don't want anyone else to have it."

The infirmary ship was lying in a blue-shadowed hollow. Her entry hatch was battered, not open enough to enter, but Mal, Zoe and Kaylee were able to pry it. Simon cautiously squeezed in first, then Zoe wriggled in after him and helped open the hatch further for Captain Reynolds. Kaylee skipped into the relatively undamaged corridor beyond and looked uncertain.

"Cap'n, it don't make no sense," she said in the gloom as Mal shone a light. "Why'd they crash land in a junk yard?"

"I don't fully comprehend it myself, Frye. Troubles me. Keep an eye out for anything that went wrong with her."

"Don't seem right," Kaylee mused. "The way th'Alliance keeps us from getting the useful stuff out of these old ships. Our girl, Serenity, goin' about space practically naked when she could have so much of this... I'm havin' a look at the engine."

"Careful," Mal approved after Kaylee's swiftly departing back. Then he raised his voice: "and come back quick and help Doc with the equipment he needs! That's why you're here."

"Mayhap the crew of this ship wanted to hide something in with the junk," Zoe suggested. "Alliance folks in charge might not even know she's here."

"Easy, or Doc'll get afeared of some kind of monster experiment."

Simon wasn't listening. "This way, I expect, will be the beds and any monitors they have-- along with some medicines. Back there would be the surgery. Let's have a look up this way. Fresh supplies couldn't come too soon-- I'm out of Cobb's regular drip. He's knocked out with a single dose right now."

Doc took his way up a ramp into the ship's bow and checked out the damage. Bottles and wires were strewn about, but it seemed almost as if they had been disturbed in certain areas before the apparent emergency crash landing. "The crew took some of these things. Perhaps they escaped to another vehicle and had some of the valuables with them. But why didn't they come back, take the rest? These lights still work. Everyone help me find... uhm..." Doc read to himself from a list he had brought with him, then passed it around. "That might also go under the name of Zicard. Sort of an unbranded version."

"You got it, Doc." Mal began digging through half-opened drawers and flipping medicine folders, few of which still held their injectable doses.

"This is strange. Some of these drugs I've never seen before. It's as if someone on the ship were developing their own cocktails." Simon peered intently into a clear glass vial as if staring would reveal the chemical content. "I feel it accurate and perhaps necessary to let you know that a sense of nervousness I had before leaving Serenity has intensified."

"Take some of that stuff along. Could prove useful."

"I think that's for the Doc to decide, Sir."

Captain Reynolds preempted. "I think we'll take it along. If it ain't useful, it's for sale."

Zoe scraped bottles into her pockets. Simon had begun to scour the floor for broken bottles, examining them carefully. "These are... familiar to me. But not entirely. And why did they leave these? If this is experimental, why not take their results? Why did they take what I suspect was the more conventional items-- see-- what would have been in these slots, here, they took out before impact. Then they left. If they'd been killed in the crash, there'd be evidence." Simon shuddered and shrugged one shoulder in mental discomfort.

Kaylee came quietly up the ramp. "Hey, crew. Um, kinda odd state of engine I gotta tell you about."

Mal looked up quickly. "What?"

"Well--" Kaylee twisted her fingers together as if this would explain something, "she's damaged beyond repair, so far as I can figure out, and whether her crew would have had any warning or not is hard to say. It's almost like she was programmed for destruction. But that don't make sense, does it? An infirmary ship?"

"Unless she was carrying something destructive," Simon suspected. "Was it automatic?"

"No, I don't think so. I think she-- I think it was an option they had in mind but who set it off, hard to say. Could've been remote, but only if they had access to the engines beforehand and--"

Mal clarified. "The ship was sabotaged?"

Kaylee shrugged. "I don't understand it, but it sure looks that way. If I knew more about sabotage I could say for certain."

"They knew she was coming down," Mal said, "or she wouldn't have emergency crashed in a junk pile. They were definitely wanting to hide, Zoe's right. They're trying to just shuffle her in amongst the wrecks and hope nobody picks her over. Kaylee, you think your-- friend had any idea?"

Kaylee mulled that over expressively. "No. I think that-- my friend was just trying to pass along some mention of an infimary ship that somebody had seen left alone on the ground."

Simon handed over his collection of supplies to Zoe and led the others through a stiff curtain that ran on a rail. "There should be beds--" but there weren't. Instead there was a cage, taller than Mal, fastened to the far hull across a square patterned tile deck. On either side, some paces from the cage, stood banks of computers, one of which was dented severely. Mal and Simon attempted to trace how the damage could have occurred in the crash, but there was no evidence of the object that presumably had been flung with force into the console.

Simon fretted, "This should be the bed area, this here, and then another--" but through a reluctant yet still-functioning automatic door there was a smaller alcove, again with a cage of plain bars, flanked by two tables with straps. There were no monitors and no cupboards nor other bedroom supplies. Some kind of records on an eraseable panel had been hastily removed. Simon tugged at his hair for a second; Mal said, "Let's take a look at the crew quarters."

"Must've been holding madmen," said Zoe.

"Or transporting prisoners," said Mal. But when they came to the crew quarters, which Kaylee had seen on her way to and from the engine access, no evidence of police equipment was to be found. The lights in this part of the infirmary ship were malfunctioning and Mal shone a lamp quickly in each bunk area.

"We'll find nothing of use to Jayne in here," said Simon. "I guess we'd better have a look at the surgery in case the beds are there or Kaylee can use the monitoring equipment they'd have for the anaesthesiologist."

Zoe took up the rear, paused and backtrod when Mal's light caught something on the head post of a bunk. She looked, stepped, and picked up a wristwatch; she brought it out, following Mal, and turned it over in the light.

"Sir, look at this."

"It's a watch. Gold?"

"Don't seem like something a fella'd leave behind. See, it's engraved. Two sets of initials. Don't seem like it'd get forgot."

"Well, what, then? You think there was some kind of threat to the fella that owned it? Think he's dead?"

"I think somebody died. The somebody who owned this watch wouldn't have left it behind. There was some kinda rush or worry, here."

"Captain!" Simon's shout came hollow up the corridor. "Look at these cryo bays."

Where Simon had supposed the surgery would be, Kaylee, Mal and Zoe joined him to see two separate bays, each lined with six upright cryogenic boxes, blinking with monitor lights. The clear containment walls bore active locks. A white glow came from behind the boxes within each bay; Mal checked the rest of the wide room with the yellow beam of his hand-held lamp.

"Open the bays," Simon told Mal. "We can maybe use something out of here and be done with this ship."

"Didn't they take the patients with them?" Kaylee worried. "Oughtn't we to be careful and break 'em out?"

"If they left 'em," Mal said, "That's what they're hiding-- that they crash-landed a ship while moving sick criminals or lunatics. Too much trouble."

Simon considered this as he ran his hands over the transparent wall. "They could have moved the patients from one infirmary ship to another, so perhaps this means they were too fragile to travel. On the other hand, it doesn't work to cryogenically store critical patients. You have to be in good health to handle cryo. Which means they couldn't have been critical, and besides, there's a hovercart here they could have used."

The locks to the bays were coded. Zoe and Mal fiddled with one.

"You know what else is weird," Simon said, "These bays for cryo. Cryo is used individually unless it's for long-term storing. The way I've usually seen cryogenic units in bays is for research-- where you'd take out entire sets of -- subjects-- at one time."

"This trouble you, Doc?"

"It does a bit. Research and this boat make me highly uncomfortable, so let's just get--"

"Hah--" Zoe managed to knock out a lock. "These are easy. Whoever left 'em ain't too worried about 'em being broken into."

Simon stood still a moment while Mal and Zoe opened a bay. He was muttering to himself. "Broken into? No. Just like in the flicks. They're worried about somebody breaking out." He stepped back from the cryo bays, but Mal raised his voice.

"Open that other one, Doc-- just break the panel."

So Simon did. But he was swiftly disappointed. "Oh, shit, please no, after all this hope of getting some help from this-- these boxes are all inhabited, but these monitors are all out of whack; malfunctioning. They read living inmates, but these people are deceased." He touched and slid a cover back. A stale scent with minimal vapor came out. "Note the necrotic dermal tissue. These boxes have been damaged from neglect."

"Or maybe in the crash."

"I think they have been deliberately neglected, Mal," Simon disagreed, his jaw briefly clenched in indignation and bitterness.

"They could've come and taken 'em out, off the ship with 'em," Kaylee said sadly.

"They've been badly maintained all along." Simon was miffed. He moved down the line in the bay he had opened, removing lids. "We are looking for anyone alive whose monitors say they are alive-- I need decent equipment for Kaylee to adapt for my infirmary."

The smell from the third box opened by Simon set them all back from their work for a moment, but they continued until a holler came from Mal. "Hey! Live one, Doc, hurry over here."

Simon stepped hurriedly and looked. "Great day, he's alive. Now I'll deal with him while Kaylee--"

"I'll shoot him neat in the head while Kaylee deals with the monitors."

"Captain? We are removing this man's means of support, miles from anywhere, in a junk ship yard in a wild land. Thank you for your kind offer of aid--"

Zoe broke in. "In addition to this hovercart, there are plenty of other things we could use or sell on Serenity. Doc, you deal with the patient or whatever it is, Mal and I'll collect all this stuff, right, Sir."

Mal slanted his eyes sidewise at Zoe.

"Don't seem right, Sir, to shoot a man to save Jayne, unless he's doin' something to Jayne direct."

"And even then," Mal agreed. "Right. Doc. You and Kaylee--" he was interrupted by a call from Haven.

"Got buzzards, Captain. Least that's what I think they are. Sit tight and wait on moving your riches back to our cargo."

"Heard you. Black out."

The young man-- almost boy-- that Simon helped out of the mounted cryo box had the shakes. That was to be expected, Simon said, and asked him if he could speak, tell his name, how many fingers, follow the finger-- the patient breathed as if he wanted to speak, but no words came and he was intensely drowsy. Simon sought for a bed to put him in and something to clothe him with. The first time he suggested carrying the patient back to Serenity with the cargo, Mal pretended not to hear him and Zoe gave him a "wait on it" look, so he dropped the topic for that moment.

Mal and Zoe moved things of value to the outer hatch and awaited further updates from Serenity.

"Why can't we take a look around at things Serenity could use from all the other junk ships? Nobody's usin' 'em."

"You can bet they're alarmed here and there," said Mal. "Watch your step, Kaylee."

Kaylee obeyed. Slight distraction was provided against temptation by the monitors she had to work on adapting. She gathered up a tangle of cords and then went to look curiously at Simon's once again unconscious patient, who breathed in shallow, yet steady draws through greyish lips. "He looks all clammy," she told Doc. "Is that normal?"

"We can't expect normal if he's been in cryo for an extended period of time," Doc answered. "As long as he's stable, we'll wait and try to keep him warm."

Mal and Zoe poked around the infirmary vessel. The records they were able to see or hack were blank. "But if there were research records, those should have gone along with the crew," Simon insisted faintly when this was mentioned to him. "Not been trashed-- no, this is all wrong. We've got to get out of this place. And I don't even feel right taking what we're taking-- I'm afraid it's going to haunt us."

"Haunt us how?" Kaylee asked. "It's just supplies. Come on, help me collect up the rest of that monitoring equipment."

Simon followed her slowly. When they returned to the cryogenic room, it took them several seconds to look aside from their work on the live patient's box and notice, together, that ten other cryo boxes were now standing empty.

Just a Little Favor for a Friend Pt. 14

2007-07-26T02:26:56Z

Bad to Worse
***

This part, in addition to containing spoilers for the movie Serenity as noted, contains spoilers for the episode "Shindig".

***

"God in Heaven," breathed Simon when Mal staggered backwards up to the open cargo deck door dragging broken Jayne along with him. Even at the first glance it occurred to Simon to wonder how in the 'verse Mal was dragging the weight alone. The mule was nowhere in sight. River was flying Serenity, having responded to Captain Reynolds' call for backup; she had put her down smoothly in a first solo landing.

As Simon ran across the deck to the battered body which was dripping blood and other fluids he was so stunned he couldn't even ask what happened. It seemed inconceivable that these two giants could have gone out to to do something simple and come back such a mess.

"It was an accident," Mal said before he could ask. Simon found his doctor voice a moment later.

"Get him to the infirmary. But how do we do it? We have no stretcher that--"

River came to see for herself when no one replied to a quick, curious call as to whether all were aboard. She knew exactly, but her eyes grew wide when she saw. She looked Mal up and down; he was always battered inside somewhere or other, he had things moved, fixed and not so fixed, but other than frustrated and sweaty he looked normal. Jayne was a mush. River bit her lip.

"Get a blanket," said Mal. "Or bring something down here-- I don't know--"

"I mean we do have a stretcher," corrected Simon, bending over Cobb and fluttering his hands in an attempt to define what he could possibly touch that would bring an indication of life or healing. There was no place to check for a pulse. The body was turning white. One unresponsive eye was open.

"We do have a stretcher," Dr. Tam repeated, "but to lift-?"

"Get it before I lose the adrenalin rush from the rutting accident."

"He's dead." Simon said it hopelessly, to himself, unwilling to desert Cobb to go to get instruments, unable to find anything to touch to ascertain otherwise... then he realized it had come out clearly and Mal's face showed that he had heard it. "Captain! I did-- I didn't say that. I shouldn't have. We'll do what we can, of course."

Mal nodded, barely. He looked up in a dazed surprise at Kaylee and River trotting in with the stretcher; immediately Mal tugged at Jayne, while Simon gritted his teeth at the body parts that got broken further or turned to show their true damage. "Go, go," he said softly, "let's get him where I can work."

Mal and the girls managed to haul Jayne to the infirmary and they all hefted him onto the table. Simon talked around syringe caps as he made a series of injections starting at a temple and working on every spot where flesh remained connected. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"Accident is all. Throwing his life away for nothing."

"He hasn't thrown it away yet, Captain. I should not have-- it was wrong to speak that way in the cargo bay, and... Don't give up hope. Tell me what happened."

"Fool was playing-- that's all it was-- said bulldogging was a game for him when he was a young 'un, I shoulda listened to him when he said hesitant-like that he hadn't done it in a long while. I said he oughta get back in practice and give him a kick."

"What happened?"

"It was a simple job. Simple, but now we got problems. I mean, oh, you wanna know how he got killed."

"I've got some slim hope he's still alive in this... Kaylee? You okay?"

Kaylee was quivering and staring at Jayne.

"River, get her out of here, and you stay out of the way too, alright? Get Zoe back as soon as possible-- we need to get more medical supplies, and without her we can't go where they're more easily or at least readily available."

River nodded and began to steer Kaylee out of the infirmary.

"Ought I go too, Doc?" Mal made as if to back away.

"No. I need to know exactly what happened. And what was the plan for meeting up with Zoe?"

River stopped in the doorway, one hand on Kaylee's shoulder and the other on her elbow. "Meet Zoe in town two days from yesterday. That's tomorrow. She might still be out interviewing pilots."

"We can't hang about there waiting for her to show up, and we can't ask her to meet us there if anyone gets wind she was with us," Mal fretted. Simon and River both scrutinized Mal's expression, then River spoke up.

"She should meet us out in space. Take a shuttle."

"Yeah... Yeah, that'll do," Mal nodded blankly.

"Right, you deal with it, River," Simon said, and Kaylee, still silent, proceeded out ahead of River's gentle pressure.

Simon went on. "Now, Captain Reynolds, what happened?"

"Oh, well... we were-- this is what you get for acting like pirates, this right here."

"Were you bulldogging someone else's mule?"

"...Yeess..."

"What happened then?"

"Fool tiger got his hands on our mule and his ankle caught hold of by enemy brigand on the other side. We crashed, flying 'longside 'em. He fell. Down one of those sharp ledges out..." Mal waved a hand vaguely.

"He fell. Okay..." Simon adjusted his examination accordingly, and lost his expression of professional detachment at more than one point. "I'd better stay with him, of course. Captain, go do captain things. I'll call you if I need another pair of hands. And I'm going to need blood. From everybody. If there's one piece of luck in this it's that Cobb is designed to accept any type."

"Okay, Doc. Gorramed fool. Dead for a trick."

"He's not dead."

"Is." Mal walked out.

As soon as Serenity was off-world and Zoe was retrieved, Mal tugged her aside without noticing the stranger she had with her. "Jayne's badly injured, unconscious and requiring transfusions. I need you to come now and get some blood into him."

Zoe registered surprise but agreed readily. "Sure."

"You need blood for somebody?" asked the stranger.

"Yes, yes, come along," Captain Reynolds replied distractedly.

Zoe started in, took a look, then recoiled at the infirmary door.

"He needs surgery," Simon said quickly. "Frankly, I'm amazed he's still alive. I can't get a start on any-- of the multiple surgeries he requires to maintain life until I have him at least minimally stable."

"Right." Zoe shook it off, accepted a needle and sat still.

The newcomer looked from one to the other, finally venturing, "Who is that?"

Simon didn't have time to ask, Who are you? He said briefly, "It's Jayne."

"Looks dead," said the newcomer. "Except for the beeping. Looks like nobody'd be in all those pieces an--"

Simon glanced up and saw an Alliance captain's cap. He started.

"Oh yeah," she told him. "I'm Haven Sandoval."

"Hi, Haven." Simon returned his attention to Jayne, who was inert except for the machine-made breathing, some of which seemed ineffectual; the chest did not rise and fall evenly. Dr. Tam began to look discouraged.

Zoe glanced at him worriedly. "What happened? Haven, go introduce yourself to the captain. Time enough to meet Jayne and the Doc later."

"No, wait here and you can donate blood," Simon told Haven absently. Haven nodded smartly to Simon and stood with arms folded waiting for her turn. To Zoe, the doctor explained, "Accident. Captain'll tell you."

Kaylee arrived to give blood as well, still looking silently at Jayne with an indefinable expression as she sat. She gave Simon such a look of wounded noncomprehension when he suggested covering Jayne up a bit to prevent her being disturbed that Simon gave up and let it go.

When Mal returned to the infirmary, Simon set Zoe to monitoring Jayne's status and gave Mal a once-over on the assertion that anyone who had been in an accident might be injured and in no shape to give blood. He made it quick, partly because he was in emotional shock himself and partly because Mal waved him off. While Mal had his needle in, the captain looked at Haven Sandoval, who stood still in her cap and occasionally examined the tiny hole the needle had left in her right arm. She also scrutinized the pile of injured flesh that the others called Jayne. Haven had a slightly undershot jaw, which gave her a determined expression.

Jayne was cold to the touch. Simon was trying to ascertain whether they'd bypassed the deadly point of shock, but he couldn't be sure what Jayne's body could withstand. A regular human should by rights have been dead, as Doc's instincts had told him.

"You a pilot?" Mal asked of Haven, nodding at her cap.

"I am, Sir."

"Nice fake arm."

Haven nodded noncommitally.

Simon looked up from his work for a second. "Those are works of art." Returning to Jayne, he continued, "I've seen a few. Supple skin, sonic communication. I'd like to take a look at your arm later... if you don't mind, Ms. Sandoval."

"I don' mind," Haven shrugged.

"That's gonna be trouble," Mal said. "It's a fancy piece of equipment. It's a needed piece for working pilots such as yourself, but it's awful tricky getting parts and repairs for high-falutin' new arms like that."

"I kinda need my left arm," Haven agreed, "though I have flown without it."

"Not ships like this, I take it you ain't. What'd you fly."

"Alliance drop ships," Haven said, proudly. "But after the Miranda signal, I got out."

"I was wondering why us."

"That was a chance, a good one. I put my name and face out there, never thought you'd be ones to call me."

"Ever flown cargo?"

"Oh, yessir, it was part of my training. A long ship job. Other than that I work to and from freighters and to space stations and from freighters to planets. Lot of heavy traffic... but yeah, cargo, at least once."

"Well-- you ready to take on some questionable kind of tasks in the name of making some money, despite the history with the Alliance?"

"Watch me make a defiant gesture." Haven turned her captain's cap around backwards on her head.

Mal nodded. "We may have an interesting job for you, little duck pilot. Zoe-- show her the bridge."

Zoe nodded to Simon, who released her from infirmary duties, and motioned Haven out ahead of her. "This way, and I'll show you the quarters, too. Yours are kinda small, but comfortable for cargo work."

"No worries," Haven nodded. She tipped her cap forward a bit since it threatened to slip off backwards, but she left it turned with the bill to her neck.

River slipped out of the pilot's seat and padded down a catwalk past Zoe and Haven when she saw them coming.

On the console, unexpected rubber dinosaur figurines were frozen in perpetual pre-battle mode, one facing off to the other a few inches apart. "Ooh," said Haven, reaching for them. "Dinos!"

"Don't-- those are--" Zoe immediately blocked Haven's reach and gathered up the dinosaurs. "Er... I'll put these away."

Haven shrugged the shoulder of her prosthetic arm and sat in the pilot's chair to feel out the controls. "Beautiful ship," she said.

Zoe smiled. Then she glanced at the rubber dinosaurs in her hands, held them against her chest and went to her room. She began searching for a place to shelve them, then sat down and placed them on either side of her while she removed a few of Wash's things from storage and began thumbing and sorting through them. She pulled an address book from a pasteboard box and scrolled through the addresses, smiling at times, and blinking and pausing in different emotion when she realized in some cases how long it had been. One name made her puzzle. She could not remember this person. "Kinnaight, Shepherd Michael," was the entry. She scrolled through a few more familiar names, then backed up to Shepherd Michael Kinnaight. There was a world given, but no indicator of how Wash was supposed to know the person.

***

Simon called a meeting at dinner, when everyone except Haven was to be gathered in the galley anyway. As Simon was sitting down, however, Kaylee rushed in. "Simon-- we can't wake Cap'n up."

Simon jumped up and followed to Mal's bunk. The captain was breathing shallowly, sprawled over the covers. River peeked in at the hatch. Simon felt Mal's pulse and pushed his eyes open. "He's in a faint. Oh, Simon how could you be so stupid."

"What do you mean? What's wrong?" Kaylee fretted and pulled at her fingers. "I couldn't-- I tugged at his hair, and pushed at him, and we keep calling him, but he won't get up."

"It's alright, Kaylee, calm down," Simon assured her. "It's alright. He's fainted because I was not aware enough to see that he couldn't handle giving blood... I didn't do an adequate examination. This ship needs a new doctor. I could kick myself."

"Don't. You could get injured," said River.

Simon gave a frustrated sigh. "He did way too much in just getting Jayne here."

"He pulled him out of a ravine," River said. "There was no other way to haul him up."

Simon turned from Mal slowly to look at River. "God, you're right. He had to get him up from where he fell to... That's not possible."

"Is he gonna be alright?" Kaylee persisted.

"River, there's a stimulant in the righthand blue color coded handled drawer in the infirmary. It has a red level marker and the label 'Viv-ta Two Hundred'. Get it?"

River nodded and disappeared.

"Captain." Simon slapped Mal's cheek. Nothing happened. "Hang on, Kaylee, we'll get him fixed up. He'll wake up on his own eventually even if we don't do anything."

"You sound worried, and I don't like that."

"I'm worried about Jayne, Kaylee. You can't expect me to sound normal."

Kaylee seemed to accept his logic and nodded. River returned; Simon administered the stimulant. Mal began to groggily come around. Kaylee breathed an audible sigh of relief, almost a whimper. Simon pressed her shoulder lightly.

"But, Simon," Kaylee whispered, "he didn't faint just 'cause of that little accident, did he?"

"He's had a traumatic experience," Simon told her.

Kaylee shook her head. "Cap'n's had lot of those kind of experiences, and he don't faint. Ain't right."

Simon ducked his head and nuzzled at the mechanic's temple briefly. "Go to dinner. I need to talk to all of you in the galley."

Kaylee nodded, took Simon's hand for a moment and left.

River was staring at Simon.

Simon looked at River. "He's fine, here you can see he's even sitting up, right, Captain?"

"I didn't faint," said Mal, heaving himself up into a sitting position with a hold on Simon's hand.

"Not one person said you did."

"Like Hell," said Mal.

Simon and River went ahead of Mal to the galley. River spoke low to Simon. "He can't keep this up."

"What do you mean?"

"Mal's tired."

Simon persisted, "What do you mean?"

River began to glance about the corridor as if the communication were too much work to continue. Simon touched her shoulder. She turned her eyes back to him. "Never mind. You need your rest. Someone needs to look after Dead Cobb."

"River, he's not dead."

River dismissed him with a graceful wave of one hand, but stepped with him all the way to the table, where Simon looked around at the crew and the entering captain and began. "I can't leave him long. That's part of the problems I need to talk about."

"What kinda problems, Doc?"

"I can't monitor my patient adequately and get enough rest to take care of him. I can do so many shifts before I begin to become less than serviceable as a trauma doctor to the rest of you, and who knows what may happen. And... it has to be said."

Mal immediately fixed a bleary, warning glare on him. "What does?"

"Mal, it has to be said. Every one of you knows-- I have an obligation--"

"Cough it up, Doc."

Simon tilted his head one way and the other, then blurted, "Jayne needs to be in a hospital. This is inadequa-"

"No way. No way."

Simon rubbed at the back of his neck, tapping his spoon at the edge of his mashed-potato plate with the other hand. "Captain, I can't not say these things."

"Well, what kinda hospital?" Kaylee optimistically asked.

"A professional, good one, Kaylee," said Simon. "Corporate, or gov--"

Mal spat viciously. Zoe removed the mashed-potato bowl from line of fire. "You wouldn't do that to Cobb if he were dead."

"Our patient is not dead, Captain," Simon plowed onward. "He's not going to be left out with the trash as he would be if he were passed on. I can't do anything but what's best for him--"

"Best!" Mal stopped, unable to find words to continue. Kaylee petted his arm in a taming attempt.

"It had to be said, I had to say it. Jayne can't speak for himself."

"If he could," said Zoe evenly, "he'd say he'd rather die. Don't seem right, somehow, his waking up in a place like that."

"I won't bring it up again," said Simon, "so long as things remain the same. You understand I had to..."

Zoe nodded, but Mal eyed him warily. Kaylee gave him an encouraging half-smile, her lips pressed together.

"Another thing," Simon sighed, "it may not be a matter of rathers. He may rather die, that may be his choice, but what kind of damage has been done is beyond my ability to diagnose at this present time and in this scenario. I'm not going to let him die if I can help it."

"Brain damage ain't gonna hurt him," Mal grumbled.

"It may," said Simon, "or it may not. And there's the matter of his nerves and spine. I need better monitoring equipment to keep his life intact. As it stands, I can't keep this up much longer."

River nodded solemnly.

"You do look like a piece out of Hell," Mal agreed roughly. "Why don't you shave?"

"I'm growing it out," Simon said and couldn't help adding, out of habit, "it helps me fit in with the natives.

"I need more consistent monitoring equipment," Simon went on insisting. "This stuff we have keeps me getting up and running for every little thing. And it's not safe to sleep if I can't trust it."

"Where can we get something like that?" Mal wanted to know.

"Well, ordinarily I'd say Buckworth and Elsides Supply but since I'm beginning to learn how to think like a fringe mercenary I'd say... if I had a cryogenic casket to salvage, Kaylee could rig something up from the superior monitoring equipment inherent in a good design."

"I could," Kaylee nodded.

"What about that one you brought River on board in?" Mal wondered.

"You-- sold the parts off from that long ago, Captain."

"So we need to keep our eyes open."

"Yes, and I need to get back to my patient. I'm about to collapse myself so, Zoe, if you could, tell Haven a bit about how to do what you do and take over for me after the next few hours. Take a sleep break yourself, first."

"Take my First Mate, and whatever else you need," Mal told Simon as Simon departed the table.

Kaylee followed Simon. "I ain't no good at doctoring," she said as they went, "but is there anything I can do for you?"

"Thank you," Simon squeezed her hand, "I appreciate that, Kaylee, but I don't know what you could do for me that would help right now."

"Okay." Kaylee backed off, touching Simon's rough hair for a moment. "Just-- let me know."

"You can fix up something for Jayne as soon as we get the supplies."

Kaylee turned for the engine room. "I'll start my plans!"

Mal, who had been heading to the bridge, hollered down the corridor to Kaylee. "You got a call, mechanic. Don't know who it is."

"Thanks, Cap'n. I'll take it in here." As soon as she punched up the feed, Kaylee beamed. "Inara."

"Hello, Kaylee Frye."

"Things are just so gorram crazy around here, it's so shiny to see you. Wish you could be here."

"Is everything alright, Kaylee? I hope so. I have wonderful news."

"Good news? That'd be nice, Inara. I don't know--"

"Is Mal there?"

"'Course he's here! I'll get him."

"Wait, Kaylee. What type of... mood is Captain Reynolds in?"

"Oh, well, earlier he-- I don't know. There's-- some things. I guess he'll tell you himself. I sure miss you."

"I miss you, too, Kaylee, and I hope we can see each other soon."

"I'll get you the cap'n."

Mal took the patched-in call.

"Inara! You the one that signaled Kaylee?"

"Yes, Mal. I--"

"You got something to say that I won't like. What is it?"

"Oh, it's good news, Mal. This is being relayed to you from Persephone. I wanted to tell everyone that I'm withdrawing my Companion registration the next time its renewal comes up."

Mal blinked. "Why's that good for you? Does it mean something to you? Or are you going freelance w-- companion type person now?"

"I've been seeing Atherton."

"Wing! That-- fella I got into a sword-fist fight with? I thought you were gonna blacklist him to all Companions forever."

"I did."

"Good, see that it stays that way. So, now that you ain't Companioning, what're you gonna be doing with yourself?"

"I'm getting married."

"Oh." Mal thought that over for a moment. "To who?"

"To Atherton."

Mal made a fist and reminded himself not to slam it into the hull. "I didn't think it was considered fine conduct for fellas to marry their whores."

Inara chilled her gaze. "I never was a whore, so that would not apply. I'll overlook that that was a low, snide and nearing unacceptable--"

Mal rubbed his unused fist and broke in, "I got something to say."

"I hope it's something befitting the ears of human beings."

"Not guaranteeing anything on that account. Jayne's in a coma."

Inara paused while it sank in how infrequently Jayne's injuries led to Mal making any mention of them one way or another. "What-- why? How? What happened?"

"Don't rightly know-- guess he got stupider than usual. I was driving at the time. He got caught up with some brigand and I couldn't break off, we crashed the mule."

"Is he going to make it?"

"... Don't rightly know that, either."

Inara recovered herself. "Let us help. I insist."

"Right. You and Atherton Wing. I can't believe it, I could just spit on his head from here. He said some mighty evil things to you while he was lying on the grass bleeding. He shoulda stayed down. I shoulda stuck him through when I had--"

"He's sorry for those things, but it's none of your business, Mal, that Atherton has been abject in his apology--"

"None of my business! Whose honor was I defending? Yours? And what do you do with it?"

"Mal, calm yourself. Please. It's amazing the gentling effect a few sword wounds can have, even if the sword itself wasn't handled in the most genteel manner."

"Oh? I get wounded all the time and you see me being gentle?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Did his face heal?"

"He looks alright to me. And he was very sweet when he asked me to be engaged to him. I'll talk to Simon and find out what kind of supplie--"

"No!" Mal snorted. "Don't need any help from that-- that gentleman."

"I won't say another thing about it, but Mal... I wish you could be at the wedding, if all goes well with Jayne..."

"Yeah. If all goes well. How long you planning on being married?"

"Mal, that really is not called for. And I'm sorry about Jayne."

"Yeah..."

As Mal shut off communication, Kaylee fluttered up behind him. "I was listenin'! Ain't it wonderful? And so romantic. Inara'll be so pretty in a wedding dress. I can't wait. What are you going to give them?"

"Congratulations," said Mal gruffly to the blank screen.

Kaylee squealed softly. "A wedding, a real wedding. Like with a gown and everything. So shiny... And in Atherton's house! His estate."

"Atherton Wing," Mal scoffed.

"And Atherton's so handsome..." Kaylee reached up with a loose fist and chucked Mal on the chin. "What's the matter, ain't you forgiven him yet?"

"Handsome! Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

Kaylee bounced. "He's handsome! And Inara's so glamorous."

"Is handsome what the ladies are looking for? Or does making a right fool out of the handsome fella count for a little?"

Kaylee paused, her hands clasped behind her back, rocking on her heels. "Well, 'sides stability, and medical knowledge... I think real ladies are looking for handsome, and gentlemanly. And cute. Cute or handsome."

"Which am I, little Kaylee?"

The mechanic frowned in thought, then stalked around Mal carefully, looking. "Pretty," she burst out. "Pretty like a lady."

"I do recognize when I'm being mocked."

"Aw, Cap'n, you are pretty! And you got lots of looks goin' for you. Just, classical-like looks ain't one of 'em."

"No?"

"You're strong. Strong arms."

"Yeah. I'm strong."

Kaylee nodded. "I'm gonna go help Simon. With my flowers."

"Whuh? What flowers will help Doc?"

"Once I got these real shiny paper rainbow-multi-color flowers that this herbal vendor said have essences in them. Healing and energy essences. Oils. Folded-- into the flowers." Kaylee knotted her fingertips in demonstration. "Been savin' 'em. Rejuvenating essence in blue, energy and motivation in red..."

"Ah. Well, carry on."

Kaylee nodded and skipped away.

She padded into the infirmary a few minutes later, dressed in pajamas and with faint used-machine-oil smudges on her face. Simon was collapsed, sleeping as one dead on the extra bed. Jayne's monitors and machines buzzed and hummed. Kaylee hopped up backwards to balance her seat on the edge of the extra bed, then turned and clambered over Simon to squeeze in next to him in the narrow bay. She brushed his unkempt beginnings of beard and mustache with her fingertips, then plucked a series of tiny folded-paper flowers out of her pajama pocket. She twirled a little of the hair above Simon's ear and tucked a flower's fold over the twirl, then placed another in his beard, until she had decorated him in most of the available spots she could reach without disturbing him. She stroked the remaining hair and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Then, leg and arm tangled over him in the tiny space, she listened to the monitors and watched Doc sleep.

Just a Little Favor for a Friend Intermission/Spoiler warning

2007-05-13T23:44:26Z

I don't have the next part ready yet, but this is a spoiler alert since "Blast Furnace, finish" is the last part taking place before the events portrayed in the movie Serenity. This means that after part 13 there will be spoilers-- they won't be specific about detailed events in the show and film, but you will be able to pick up important events from context in this fanfic. So either see the movie, or get spoiled. :)