M-S, S-I*: Firefly
Apr. 23rd, 2007 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sickle_storiesIn the interest of making this as complete an archive as I can, I have no shame. Or I do, but I put it in a box for the moment. There's a few writer's notes in the mess, too.
My M-S/S-I scenelettes tend to be quite low on either set of initials. My preferred theme is having the character randomly appear in the fandom context, occasionally with some fore-knowledge of the plot. I like to play with amnesia, though, and adaptation to the new world.
(This is very much the main point of my one and only Star Wars fic, which is, as yet, untyped, though scribbled aplenty.)
“What the guĭ are you doin’?”
[character intro]
The tall man grabbed her arm and dragged her down the dusty street. “Mal’s been hounding my hide on account o’ ya.” Disoriented, she tried to break his hold on her, locking her knees and prying at his hand, barely taking in the bustling crowd about her.
The man stopped short and turned to her, blue eyes squinting in the dust raised by the crowd. He gave her arm a shake with his left hand. “You gonna stop that an’ run, or do I gotta drag you all the way?”
She couldn’t answer, merely thankful that he and the entire world had stopped moving. Her eyes blurred and she felt the beginnings of a headache anchor deep. When she managed to focus her eyes again, she took in his stance. She stared at his right arm, held rigidly in front of him, a gun in his gloved grip.
At her lack of response, he rolled his eyes and started walking again, dragging her along behind him. Once they reached the end of the street, the man skirted along the side of a wall at a soft jog, woman in tow.
[See ship, description, comment on others being there already, com’ maybe]
He had to drag her up the ramp that led into the belly of a ship, cursing and weaving his gun behind them. Once inside the ship, he pounded his fist on a panel-button, then another. The woman stood in the middle of what seemed to be the cargo bay as the ramp lifted and the doors closed, wheezing from the dust and rubbing her arm where he’d dragged her.
“We’re on,” he said to the panel before turning to the woman. “Next time I tell you to run, you git, y’hear?” With that, he started walking up the stairs by the ramp, holstering his gun on the way.
“Excuse me?”
He stopped at the first landing, surprised to still see her standing where he left her. The woman took a step towards him, still rubbing her upper arm. “I’m— I’m sorry, but I was…”
Jayne shifted uncomfortably at her words. “Spit it.”
“What’s going on?”
[more]
“What do you—” he began, before taking in her confused expression. “Wo de ma,” he whispered and reached down to the communications button again. “Mal, you might want to get down here.”
“Half-way there already,” said his captain as he took the stairs two at a time. “What part of ‘get your ass back on ship’ did you not understand?”
Jayne ignored the question and pointed towards the woman who hadn’t moved since she’d spoken. “Think your girl here’s gone funny.”
* i.e. Mary-Sue, Self-Insertion
My M-S/S-I scenelettes tend to be quite low on either set of initials. My preferred theme is having the character randomly appear in the fandom context, occasionally with some fore-knowledge of the plot. I like to play with amnesia, though, and adaptation to the new world.
(This is very much the main point of my one and only Star Wars fic, which is, as yet, untyped, though scribbled aplenty.)
“What the guĭ are you doin’?”
The tall man grabbed her arm and dragged her down the dusty street. “Mal’s been hounding my hide on account o’ ya.” Disoriented, she tried to break his hold on her, locking her knees and prying at his hand, barely taking in the bustling crowd about her.
The man stopped short and turned to her, blue eyes squinting in the dust raised by the crowd. He gave her arm a shake with his left hand. “You gonna stop that an’ run, or do I gotta drag you all the way?”
She couldn’t answer, merely thankful that he and the entire world had stopped moving. Her eyes blurred and she felt the beginnings of a headache anchor deep. When she managed to focus her eyes again, she took in his stance. She stared at his right arm, held rigidly in front of him, a gun in his gloved grip.
At her lack of response, he rolled his eyes and started walking again, dragging her along behind him. Once they reached the end of the street, the man skirted along the side of a wall at a soft jog, woman in tow.
He had to drag her up the ramp that led into the belly of a ship, cursing and weaving his gun behind them. Once inside the ship, he pounded his fist on a panel-button, then another. The woman stood in the middle of what seemed to be the cargo bay as the ramp lifted and the doors closed, wheezing from the dust and rubbing her arm where he’d dragged her.
“We’re on,” he said to the panel before turning to the woman. “Next time I tell you to run, you git, y’hear?” With that, he started walking up the stairs by the ramp, holstering his gun on the way.
“Excuse me?”
He stopped at the first landing, surprised to still see her standing where he left her. The woman took a step towards him, still rubbing her upper arm. “I’m— I’m sorry, but I was…”
Jayne shifted uncomfortably at her words. “Spit it.”
“What’s going on?”
“What do you—” he began, before taking in her confused expression. “Wo de ma,” he whispered and reached down to the communications button again. “Mal, you might want to get down here.”
“Half-way there already,” said his captain as he took the stairs two at a time. “What part of ‘get your ass back on ship’ did you not understand?”
Jayne ignored the question and pointed towards the woman who hadn’t moved since she’d spoken. “Think your girl here’s gone funny.”
* i.e. Mary-Sue, Self-Insertion
