![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic's "Firefly/any, Mal + any, "Would you mind telling me what you're doing on my gorram ship?"" This idea came in out of nowhere when I was looking at prompts. It's cracky but in-character, and likely is the product of very little sleep. But the combination has some legs to stand on: the first two books of the series might be technically fantasy, albeit a literary one, but there are some tropes in the third book that put it in the realm of steampunk or dieselpunk sci-fi. That and I also RP both Mal Reynolds and Titus Groan, and thus have headspace versions who like to bicker (well, Mal likes to get Titus's goat, but they actually get along, as much as Mal can be said to get along with anyone). I may flesh this thing out a bit more and introduce a few more "Firefly" characters (I'm sure Titus and Kaylee would get along splendidly: she might even get a smile out of him).
The rustling noise in the hidey-hole for sensitive cargo was too loud to be a rat, and they'd just broken atmo leaving Osiris, which lead Mal to suspect they had a stowaway hiding in it.
He hauled back the panel and reached in, putting his hand right on something soft which let out a startled gasp and tried to pull away. But Mal was a mite quicker and grabbed the intruder, hauling him out onto to the decking.
The stowaway was a kid, no more than seventeen, clad in what had been a fine silk suit, but which had seen some traveling. His bewildered violet eyes blinked in the glare of the lights hanging overhead, but he stood up, brushing himself off.
"Pardon me, sir, I did not mean to intrude and I hope I did not create cause for concern --" the youngster started to say, in a mild voice.
"Stop right there, kid," Mal broke in. "Y' mind tellin' me what yer doin' on my gorram ship?"
"I suppose one could say that I am a young adventurer wishing to see more of the world," the youngster replied. "I am Titus Groan, seventy-seventh earl of Gormenghast."
"Gormen-whut? never heard of the place," Mal said, narrowing his eyes at the kid. He seemed all right, a bit heavy on using high falutin' phraseology -- even more than Simon -- but he looked the very definition of a tenderfoot.
"I suppose that you haven't: no one seems to have heard of it who hasn't lived there and it is the kind of place that has forgotten that there is a world outside of it," the kid replied.
"All right, then maybe I'd better see that y' get back there where y' belong," Mal replied, reaching for the commlink in his pocket and keying it to the bridge. "Wash, looks like we got extra baggage: turn us aroun' so we can drop it off."
"No please, sir, I can't go back there, I've only recently departed it and I would rather be left in the cold of the sky than return to that place," the kid pleaded. "I've only recently won my freedom to follow my own path, rather than remain burdened with the weight of my title."
That word 'freedom' stopped Mal from suggesting that spacing the kid wasn't a bad idea, either. "All right. Y' stay on board till we make landfall on th' next rock. Y' keep t' th' passenger quarters an' y' don't innerfere with how I run my boat. But when we hit th' next rock, yer on yer own there."
The kid bowed his head. "These are reasonable terms which I shall not fail to keep. But who, might I ask, is offering them?"
"Mal Reynolds, if it pleases yer earliness," Mal said, keying on the commlink. "Wash, keep on course: it's just a kid tryin' t' make hisself a new life."
comment_fic's "Firefly/any, Mal + any, "Would you mind telling me what you're doing on my gorram ship?"" This idea came in out of nowhere when I was looking at prompts. It's cracky but in-character, and likely is the product of very little sleep. But the combination has some legs to stand on: the first two books of the series might be technically fantasy, albeit a literary one, but there are some tropes in the third book that put it in the realm of steampunk or dieselpunk sci-fi. That and I also RP both Mal Reynolds and Titus Groan, and thus have headspace versions who like to bicker (well, Mal likes to get Titus's goat, but they actually get along, as much as Mal can be said to get along with anyone). I may flesh this thing out a bit more and introduce a few more "Firefly" characters (I'm sure Titus and Kaylee would get along splendidly: she might even get a smile out of him).The rustling noise in the hidey-hole for sensitive cargo was too loud to be a rat, and they'd just broken atmo leaving Osiris, which lead Mal to suspect they had a stowaway hiding in it.
He hauled back the panel and reached in, putting his hand right on something soft which let out a startled gasp and tried to pull away. But Mal was a mite quicker and grabbed the intruder, hauling him out onto to the decking.
The stowaway was a kid, no more than seventeen, clad in what had been a fine silk suit, but which had seen some traveling. His bewildered violet eyes blinked in the glare of the lights hanging overhead, but he stood up, brushing himself off.
"Pardon me, sir, I did not mean to intrude and I hope I did not create cause for concern --" the youngster started to say, in a mild voice.
"Stop right there, kid," Mal broke in. "Y' mind tellin' me what yer doin' on my gorram ship?"
"I suppose one could say that I am a young adventurer wishing to see more of the world," the youngster replied. "I am Titus Groan, seventy-seventh earl of Gormenghast."
"Gormen-whut? never heard of the place," Mal said, narrowing his eyes at the kid. He seemed all right, a bit heavy on using high falutin' phraseology -- even more than Simon -- but he looked the very definition of a tenderfoot.
"I suppose that you haven't: no one seems to have heard of it who hasn't lived there and it is the kind of place that has forgotten that there is a world outside of it," the kid replied.
"All right, then maybe I'd better see that y' get back there where y' belong," Mal replied, reaching for the commlink in his pocket and keying it to the bridge. "Wash, looks like we got extra baggage: turn us aroun' so we can drop it off."
"No please, sir, I can't go back there, I've only recently departed it and I would rather be left in the cold of the sky than return to that place," the kid pleaded. "I've only recently won my freedom to follow my own path, rather than remain burdened with the weight of my title."
That word 'freedom' stopped Mal from suggesting that spacing the kid wasn't a bad idea, either. "All right. Y' stay on board till we make landfall on th' next rock. Y' keep t' th' passenger quarters an' y' don't innerfere with how I run my boat. But when we hit th' next rock, yer on yer own there."
The kid bowed his head. "These are reasonable terms which I shall not fail to keep. But who, might I ask, is offering them?"
"Mal Reynolds, if it pleases yer earliness," Mal said, keying on the commlink. "Wash, keep on course: it's just a kid tryin' t' make hisself a new life."
