Title: Moby Dick
Author: M Kari (meinterrupted AT livejournal DOT com)
Summary: "That it? That's all it takes to get the go ahead to assassinate someone?"
Rating: Adult General
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Characters: River, Mal
Spoilers/Timeline: None, AU
Word Count: 1029
Prompts: Theatrical Muse #125: "Who was 'the one that got away'?"
Notes: This was written as a prompt-response for moonbrainmuse. It's vaguely set in an AU future-verse based loosely around my short AU Clytemnestra, a part of Not a Pretty Myth. It's not really necessary to read it, since this is really an AU of an AU, but it might make a bit more sense. And now my muse says 'to hell with the Mutant Plot Bunny o' Doom[tm], let's write this AU-epic!' And I say...omgwtfcheesegrater.
"Codename Pequod, report."
River tucked a lock of short hair behind her ear, a few strands escaping her grasp. "Target has been identified. All intelligence seems to be correct."
The man on the screen nodded. "You have the go ahead, Pequod. Radio silence until the target is eliminated. Contact as soon as it's done." He paused. "Take care of yourself, Tam. Don't get yourself killed for this hun dan. He's proven himself a worthy adversary. No one's going to think bad on you for coming home empty-handed."
Smirking, she nodded. "Haven't yet, Johns. And they only send the best after the best. Pequod out." She clicked the comm-unit shut.
"That it? That's all it takes to get the go ahead to assassinate someone?"
River sighed and turned. "When 'someone' is as important and high-up in the enemy army as you are, Reynolds, it's quite easy to obtain an order of assassination. Besides, this order was given weeks ago." She shook her head and stared at the closed transmitter. "If I were loyal to the Alliance, you'd be dead by morning."
Colonel Malcolm Reynolds pursed his lips. "How do I know you're sincere? For all I know you're a gorram sleeper agent."
Narrowing her eyes she threw the comm-unit at him. "Liu kuoshui de biaozi he houzi de ben erzi! How many times must I prove my loyalty to you? Saving your life two times before isn't enough? I'm here because what the Alliance is doing is wrong! What they did to me and to my teammates, all in the name of unity is wrong! I want them destroyed almost as much as you do." She stomped across the room, shoving a book off the bedside table on her way. "If I could let you read my mind, I would in a heartbeat. You must trust someone sometime."
He stayed still on the edge of the bed, watching her as she tried to calm herself. "What's got you all het up this time? What's so different about this time you're claiming to save my life? You were cool as a cucumber before."
River pressed her forehead against the rough wall. "Everything's different," she whispered. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she was the picture of military composure. "Everything's different Mal," she said as she turned. "Before, I just passed on information. It was untraceable information that put me in minimal danger, but saved you and yours more than once. NowÉ Now they've sent their best assassin to take you out." She sat gracefully on the edge of the bed, tucking her lithe legs under her. "You know where they recruited me? Ballet school."
Mal looked up sharply, watching her face. "Don't seem to make much difference where they picked you up, only what they made you."
Her eyes were large when she looked up. "It makes all the difference, Mal. It shows, more than anything, what they are, how the end always justifies the means, no matter what."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, still guarded.
"I was fourteen, on the fast track to being a prima ballerina in the Core. Perfect balance, excellent acting ability--just a few inches too tall, but I made up for that with talent, my instructors said." She stared blankly at the wall, seeing the stage in her mind's eye. "They saw me in a performance of 'Giselle.' I was just an extra, one of the wilis, and it was my first big professional production. Two men approached me backstage on closing night, told me they were starting a new ballet company, that they thought I'd be an excellent addition to their cast."
Mal frowned. "'Giselle'? Isn't that the one where the dead girls try to kill the hero?" She turned to him, shocked. "Yes, I've seen a ballet. Don't have a heart attack."
She tried to school her face to hide her surprise. "Yes. The wilis are the spirits of dead maidens, killed before their wedding nights. They can't rest because they were unable to satisfy their passions while alive, so every night they dance." She looked at Mal with a strange expression. "I thought I knew everything about you, Reynolds."
He snorted. "Well I'm a surprising kind of guy." His expression softened. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
River sighed. "They told my parents it would be an all-around education, with emphasis on the physical aspects of dance. Of course they let me go. I didn't even have to beg. I wasn't even worried when they supplemented my ballet with martial arts; fighting is really just another form of dance. It was easy and interesting." She looked down at her hands. "Then came the weapons. We knew then that there was no ballet company." She shook her head.
"Some girls complained; they disappeared. I didn't. They trained me to listen and learn, trained me to do things that challenged me more than dance--however much I loved it--never did. And I was good at it. But I never believed in it. Never. And the more I learned, the less I agreed with the Alliance." River turned to him. "Do you know what they call you? What the Alliance refers to you as?"
Mal shook his head. "Ain't got a clue. You're the one who lived there."
"Moby Dick: the one who got away. You know there have been nine separate missions to eliminate you? You evaded the first seven without much problems, though Flask got close." She laughed self-consciously. "He was the one who, uh, shot you in the leg."
"Nice to know his name," he said drily.
She looked away. "I found you intensely interesting. I studied your files forward and backward, tried to learn everything I could. I couldn't just sit around and let them kill you." She stood up and walked to the window, her fingers pressing against the cool glass. "Call me Ishmael," she whispered.
Suddenly he was behind her, his body strong against her back. Her breath caught in her throat, her back going rigid. "I'm not going to throw you overboard, Ahab," he muttered. "Gotta trust someone sometime."
Author: M Kari (meinterrupted AT livejournal DOT com)
Summary: "That it? That's all it takes to get the go ahead to assassinate someone?"
Rating: Adult General
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Characters: River, Mal
Spoilers/Timeline: None, AU
Word Count: 1029
Prompts: Theatrical Muse #125: "Who was 'the one that got away'?"
Notes: This was written as a prompt-response for moonbrainmuse. It's vaguely set in an AU future-verse based loosely around my short AU Clytemnestra, a part of Not a Pretty Myth. It's not really necessary to read it, since this is really an AU of an AU, but it might make a bit more sense. And now my muse says 'to hell with the Mutant Plot Bunny o' Doom[tm], let's write this AU-epic!' And I say...omgwtfcheesegrater.
"Codename Pequod, report."
River tucked a lock of short hair behind her ear, a few strands escaping her grasp. "Target has been identified. All intelligence seems to be correct."
The man on the screen nodded. "You have the go ahead, Pequod. Radio silence until the target is eliminated. Contact as soon as it's done." He paused. "Take care of yourself, Tam. Don't get yourself killed for this hun dan. He's proven himself a worthy adversary. No one's going to think bad on you for coming home empty-handed."
Smirking, she nodded. "Haven't yet, Johns. And they only send the best after the best. Pequod out." She clicked the comm-unit shut.
"That it? That's all it takes to get the go ahead to assassinate someone?"
River sighed and turned. "When 'someone' is as important and high-up in the enemy army as you are, Reynolds, it's quite easy to obtain an order of assassination. Besides, this order was given weeks ago." She shook her head and stared at the closed transmitter. "If I were loyal to the Alliance, you'd be dead by morning."
Colonel Malcolm Reynolds pursed his lips. "How do I know you're sincere? For all I know you're a gorram sleeper agent."
Narrowing her eyes she threw the comm-unit at him. "Liu kuoshui de biaozi he houzi de ben erzi! How many times must I prove my loyalty to you? Saving your life two times before isn't enough? I'm here because what the Alliance is doing is wrong! What they did to me and to my teammates, all in the name of unity is wrong! I want them destroyed almost as much as you do." She stomped across the room, shoving a book off the bedside table on her way. "If I could let you read my mind, I would in a heartbeat. You must trust someone sometime."
He stayed still on the edge of the bed, watching her as she tried to calm herself. "What's got you all het up this time? What's so different about this time you're claiming to save my life? You were cool as a cucumber before."
River pressed her forehead against the rough wall. "Everything's different," she whispered. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she was the picture of military composure. "Everything's different Mal," she said as she turned. "Before, I just passed on information. It was untraceable information that put me in minimal danger, but saved you and yours more than once. NowÉ Now they've sent their best assassin to take you out." She sat gracefully on the edge of the bed, tucking her lithe legs under her. "You know where they recruited me? Ballet school."
Mal looked up sharply, watching her face. "Don't seem to make much difference where they picked you up, only what they made you."
Her eyes were large when she looked up. "It makes all the difference, Mal. It shows, more than anything, what they are, how the end always justifies the means, no matter what."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, still guarded.
"I was fourteen, on the fast track to being a prima ballerina in the Core. Perfect balance, excellent acting ability--just a few inches too tall, but I made up for that with talent, my instructors said." She stared blankly at the wall, seeing the stage in her mind's eye. "They saw me in a performance of 'Giselle.' I was just an extra, one of the wilis, and it was my first big professional production. Two men approached me backstage on closing night, told me they were starting a new ballet company, that they thought I'd be an excellent addition to their cast."
Mal frowned. "'Giselle'? Isn't that the one where the dead girls try to kill the hero?" She turned to him, shocked. "Yes, I've seen a ballet. Don't have a heart attack."
She tried to school her face to hide her surprise. "Yes. The wilis are the spirits of dead maidens, killed before their wedding nights. They can't rest because they were unable to satisfy their passions while alive, so every night they dance." She looked at Mal with a strange expression. "I thought I knew everything about you, Reynolds."
He snorted. "Well I'm a surprising kind of guy." His expression softened. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
River sighed. "They told my parents it would be an all-around education, with emphasis on the physical aspects of dance. Of course they let me go. I didn't even have to beg. I wasn't even worried when they supplemented my ballet with martial arts; fighting is really just another form of dance. It was easy and interesting." She looked down at her hands. "Then came the weapons. We knew then that there was no ballet company." She shook her head.
"Some girls complained; they disappeared. I didn't. They trained me to listen and learn, trained me to do things that challenged me more than dance--however much I loved it--never did. And I was good at it. But I never believed in it. Never. And the more I learned, the less I agreed with the Alliance." River turned to him. "Do you know what they call you? What the Alliance refers to you as?"
Mal shook his head. "Ain't got a clue. You're the one who lived there."
"Moby Dick: the one who got away. You know there have been nine separate missions to eliminate you? You evaded the first seven without much problems, though Flask got close." She laughed self-consciously. "He was the one who, uh, shot you in the leg."
"Nice to know his name," he said drily.
She looked away. "I found you intensely interesting. I studied your files forward and backward, tried to learn everything I could. I couldn't just sit around and let them kill you." She stood up and walked to the window, her fingers pressing against the cool glass. "Call me Ishmael," she whispered.
Suddenly he was behind her, his body strong against her back. Her breath caught in her throat, her back going rigid. "I'm not going to throw you overboard, Ahab," he muttered. "Gotta trust someone sometime."
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