A Tricky Business: Chapter 3
Apr. 21st, 2007 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sickle_storiesAuthor's Note: Disclaimers and other info on Chapter 1. This is a work in progress, though in much faster progress thanks to my beta ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wildannuette. (Wave your mouse over the Chinese for translations.) Also, I have no idea how much a nighter with a whore in the Eavesdown Docks would go for. All I know about Firefly’s monetary system is that you can get a cow on the blackmarket for 25 credits.
The Red Barrel
Jayne figured he must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, except he didn’t feel all that drunk. He’d been to Bessie Mae’s often enough to be called a regular and even enjoy a couple credits discount with some of the girls. So when he turned down Flaherty and didn’t see the familiar red-painted barrel, he thought maybe Kaylee’s moonshine had finally messed with him.
The second time he walked down the length of the street, dragging his feet and muttering a choice curse every step or so, he heard some bolts being drawn back. A middle-aged man with graying hair waved him over from what had been the brothel’s door. Jayne frowned as he retraced his steps.
“What’s happened to the Red Barrel?” he said by way of greeting. The stranger seemed disappointed.
“Ol’ Bess moved a while back. She’s over on Stromsen Street now.” The man hesitated, glancing down at Jayne’s gun belt. “I’ve got cartridges for that old Delcat 52 on stock,” he offered.
“Done bought ‘em already,” said Jayne, “but I’ll keep it in mind.” He half-turned and gestured vaguely at the street.
“Some three blocks to the right,” said the man as he put a hand on the doorknob. He stood there as Jayne took a few steps away from his door.
“Saw some new model of the Vicar,” said Jayne over his shoulder.
The man grinned wide. “Hot out of the oven,” he said. “Opening hours noon till ten, Wednesdays closed. Name’s Robespierre.” He nodded goodnight to Jayne and shut the door, sliding the bolts back into place.
Jayne walked the three blocks to Stromsen Street, eyeing the other pedestrians, noting which doors they went into and trying to guess their business. He’d never heard of that fellow Robespierre, for example, even though he prided himself on knowing most of the weapons traffickers at the docks (and in most of the rim planets he’d spent any decent amount of time on as well.)
Seeing the street sign proclaiming the strip of dirt “Ivan Stromsen Street” reminded Jayne of the ship-stunt also named after the man. Wash might be annoying and much too talkative for his own good, but he was the only pilot Jayne’d ever met who could claim, whilst sober, to have pulled a Crazy Ivan. Jayne didn’t like pondering what would have happened to them if the trick hadn’t work. The Reavers were so close to catching them that Wash blowing up Serenity would have been a kindness.
As he neared the door, head almost clear of alcohol thanks to the crisp night air, he was relieved to see the familiar red barrel sitting outside. (Jayne didn’t believe in changes for the better.) When was the last time he’d been over at Bessie’s anyway? Last few times they’d hit Persephone they’d barely had time to restock before burning sky again.
He paused a few steps away from the door and squared his shoulders some, wishing he’d brought his liquer flash along. He’d only just remembered that, if there was one fault he could find with Bessie, was that she would never part with enough of her cash to buy decent drinks for her customers.
Jayne ran a hand through his hair and walked up the stairs, patting the barrel as he passed it. He tugged on the door but found it locked. Mumbling a choice curse, he jiggled the door handle and gave it an extra tug before glancing at the windows. From under the curtains he could just make out a slight glimmer of light. He gave the door a kick.
It was opened by a small slim man wearing a blue scarf about his neck and one of them fancy vests the doc’ had stashed. Jayne looked him over, noting the heavy boots and yellow silk belt. “You one of Bessie’s boys?” he asked.
The man – hell, young enough to be called a boy by Jayne’s standards – leaned against the doorframe. The stance may have been casual, but his clean-shaved face wasn’t at all inviting. The boy’s eyes flickered up and down Jayne.
“I’m not a as yanse lang if that’s what you’re after.” He hooked a thumb into his belt and leaned away from the door. It gave Jayne the creeps how the kid just kept staring at him.
The man seemed to come to a decision. “You got cash on you?”
Jayne nodded and the fancy pimp led him through to the living room. Business must be going well for the Red Barrel, thought Jayne as he took in the fancy cushions and new carpet. Of course, kind of strange the room was empty of willing faces.
“Busy night,” said the pimp as he gestured Jayne to sit. “First we do business,” he continued, sitting down across from Jayne, “then I’ll leave you to yours.”
“Why’re you running things? This still Bessie’s house?”
“Yeah, it is, but Bess has gone and opened up a bar, things been goin’ so well.” The man leaned back into the chair, rubbing the chair’s arm idly. “She’s over there now, making sure the whole thing don’t go belly-up.”
Jayne found himself wondering why the kid liked to dress fancy anyway, if he wasn’t a “man-whore”, as Kaylee’d put it. Mighty silly of Bessie to get such a as ni ni to manage the house anyway.
At his prospective-customer’s lack of response, the man rubbed his chin. “I’m Floyd,” he offered.
“Her lao mao.”
The man sighed. “Yes.” He smoothed out the wrinkles on his pants.
It gave Jayne a bit of joy that it hurt the boy to be called that, for all his fancy airs. Jayne looked around, feeling the other’s eyes on him. Pretending to examine the silk-screen decorating one of the walls, he studied the boy out of the corner of his eye. Thinking on it, the boy kind of reminded him of Simon, all Core-dressed and prissified. Jayne had to smile at that, imagining Simon in Floyd’s place. Who knew? Being out in the black could change a man some. Even one as zheng zheng and prim as Simon. (Though doc’d probably start stuttering at the first mention of sex.)
Jayne almost asked why the girls – them as weren’t occupied – weren’t out with them, but he figured Floyd ran a tight ship. For such a dainty-looking thing he seemed much too comfortable in Jayne’s presence, which meant one of two things: stupidity or some sort of upper hand. Whichever it was, Jayne crossed his arms, making sure to make a show of flexing his arms all menacing-like.
“How long do you want?” said Floyd.
“How much for the night?”
“Forty-five.”
“Fèihuà,” said Jayne. “You think this my first time coming to Bessie’s?”
“That’s the current price.”
Jayne gave his right arm an extra flex. “Not for me it ain’t.” He wanted some trim, certainly, but gorrammit, what that as háizi was asking would get him a full round of bullets. “Go on and ask Macaria. She and others give me discounts.” He gave a cocky grin, remembering the girls.
“Macaria works over at Moonshine with Bessie Mae now.” Floyd paused as Jayne scoffed. “Lots of girls are new – well, relatively. I take it it’s been a while since you’ve stopped by us.”
Jayne figured the pimp had a pretty clear idea just how long it had been since his last visit. He should know better than to ask for a whore by name anyhow.
Floyd jerked his chin towards the cushions by Jayne. “Things have changed, as you can see. Business goes well, quality goes up. Only fair the price goes up as well.” Floyd smiled and fiddled with his belt. “Some of the girls have been reading up on choice Companion tips. Amazing what the drop-out rate for Guild is, too.”
Jayne huffed. “Alright.” The pimp seemed about to speak again but Jayne cut him off: “And don’t be asking for no money up front. I ain’t seen your girls yet and I don’t intend to pay till the morn’.” He leaned forward. “But I do intend to pay.”
The young man nodded softly and stood, smoothing his pant legs mechanically. He gestured to a small cupboard by the silk-screen. “Have a drink if you like. I’ll go fetch the girls.” At the door, Floyd turned to see Jayne already poking amidst the liquor bottles. “Any particular type?”
Jayne leaned his head against the cupboard – wood, he’d noticed – crouched down as he was, and closed his eyes. He thought of all those nights straining on his bunk on Serenity and of all the faces that appeared seconds before he came. They never were the pin-up girls he’d stuck up by his bunk. “Pretty,” he said. He ground his teeth and bit his tongue. Floyd left the room.
Just as Jayne’s picked out a bottle of sake, Floyd popped his head back into the room. “A girl, right? Not feelin’ sly?” Then the cheeky chunrén grinned and winked at Jayne. As he served himself a shot, Jayne heard Floyd whistle a familiar tune as he walked down the hall. Jayne hummed the second verse of “The Royal Hat of Londinium” as he poured another shot.
Delcat 52 – another invented gun-type
yellow – Chinese colour for “earth” and its carrying, supporting function with a connotation of constancy
yanse lang – whore (male)
ni ni - feeble, tiny, young and weak
Floyd – thanks toearthwhatwere (aka Ginger Snap) for the name
lao mao – pimp
zheng zheng ¬– right, proper, correct
fèihuà – nonsense
háizi – boy
Macaria – blessed (Greek name)
sly (Firefly slang) - gay
chunrén - fool/jerk (familiar)
“The Royal Hat of Londinium” – inspired by Mal’s comment, in Firefly ep. 1x01 Serenity, “I’d like to be the king of all Londinuim and wear a shiny hat.”
wildannuette. (Wave your mouse over the Chinese for translations.) Also, I have no idea how much a nighter with a whore in the Eavesdown Docks would go for. All I know about Firefly’s monetary system is that you can get a cow on the blackmarket for 25 credits.Jayne figured he must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, except he didn’t feel all that drunk. He’d been to Bessie Mae’s often enough to be called a regular and even enjoy a couple credits discount with some of the girls. So when he turned down Flaherty and didn’t see the familiar red-painted barrel, he thought maybe Kaylee’s moonshine had finally messed with him.
The second time he walked down the length of the street, dragging his feet and muttering a choice curse every step or so, he heard some bolts being drawn back. A middle-aged man with graying hair waved him over from what had been the brothel’s door. Jayne frowned as he retraced his steps.
“What’s happened to the Red Barrel?” he said by way of greeting. The stranger seemed disappointed.
“Ol’ Bess moved a while back. She’s over on Stromsen Street now.” The man hesitated, glancing down at Jayne’s gun belt. “I’ve got cartridges for that old Delcat 52 on stock,” he offered.
“Done bought ‘em already,” said Jayne, “but I’ll keep it in mind.” He half-turned and gestured vaguely at the street.
“Some three blocks to the right,” said the man as he put a hand on the doorknob. He stood there as Jayne took a few steps away from his door.
“Saw some new model of the Vicar,” said Jayne over his shoulder.
The man grinned wide. “Hot out of the oven,” he said. “Opening hours noon till ten, Wednesdays closed. Name’s Robespierre.” He nodded goodnight to Jayne and shut the door, sliding the bolts back into place.
Jayne walked the three blocks to Stromsen Street, eyeing the other pedestrians, noting which doors they went into and trying to guess their business. He’d never heard of that fellow Robespierre, for example, even though he prided himself on knowing most of the weapons traffickers at the docks (and in most of the rim planets he’d spent any decent amount of time on as well.)
Seeing the street sign proclaiming the strip of dirt “Ivan Stromsen Street” reminded Jayne of the ship-stunt also named after the man. Wash might be annoying and much too talkative for his own good, but he was the only pilot Jayne’d ever met who could claim, whilst sober, to have pulled a Crazy Ivan. Jayne didn’t like pondering what would have happened to them if the trick hadn’t work. The Reavers were so close to catching them that Wash blowing up Serenity would have been a kindness.
As he neared the door, head almost clear of alcohol thanks to the crisp night air, he was relieved to see the familiar red barrel sitting outside. (Jayne didn’t believe in changes for the better.) When was the last time he’d been over at Bessie’s anyway? Last few times they’d hit Persephone they’d barely had time to restock before burning sky again.
He paused a few steps away from the door and squared his shoulders some, wishing he’d brought his liquer flash along. He’d only just remembered that, if there was one fault he could find with Bessie, was that she would never part with enough of her cash to buy decent drinks for her customers.
Jayne ran a hand through his hair and walked up the stairs, patting the barrel as he passed it. He tugged on the door but found it locked. Mumbling a choice curse, he jiggled the door handle and gave it an extra tug before glancing at the windows. From under the curtains he could just make out a slight glimmer of light. He gave the door a kick.
It was opened by a small slim man wearing a blue scarf about his neck and one of them fancy vests the doc’ had stashed. Jayne looked him over, noting the heavy boots and yellow silk belt. “You one of Bessie’s boys?” he asked.
The man – hell, young enough to be called a boy by Jayne’s standards – leaned against the doorframe. The stance may have been casual, but his clean-shaved face wasn’t at all inviting. The boy’s eyes flickered up and down Jayne.
“I’m not a as yanse lang if that’s what you’re after.” He hooked a thumb into his belt and leaned away from the door. It gave Jayne the creeps how the kid just kept staring at him.
The man seemed to come to a decision. “You got cash on you?”
Jayne nodded and the fancy pimp led him through to the living room. Business must be going well for the Red Barrel, thought Jayne as he took in the fancy cushions and new carpet. Of course, kind of strange the room was empty of willing faces.
“Busy night,” said the pimp as he gestured Jayne to sit. “First we do business,” he continued, sitting down across from Jayne, “then I’ll leave you to yours.”
“Why’re you running things? This still Bessie’s house?”
“Yeah, it is, but Bess has gone and opened up a bar, things been goin’ so well.” The man leaned back into the chair, rubbing the chair’s arm idly. “She’s over there now, making sure the whole thing don’t go belly-up.”
Jayne found himself wondering why the kid liked to dress fancy anyway, if he wasn’t a “man-whore”, as Kaylee’d put it. Mighty silly of Bessie to get such a as ni ni to manage the house anyway.
At his prospective-customer’s lack of response, the man rubbed his chin. “I’m Floyd,” he offered.
“Her lao mao.”
The man sighed. “Yes.” He smoothed out the wrinkles on his pants.
It gave Jayne a bit of joy that it hurt the boy to be called that, for all his fancy airs. Jayne looked around, feeling the other’s eyes on him. Pretending to examine the silk-screen decorating one of the walls, he studied the boy out of the corner of his eye. Thinking on it, the boy kind of reminded him of Simon, all Core-dressed and prissified. Jayne had to smile at that, imagining Simon in Floyd’s place. Who knew? Being out in the black could change a man some. Even one as zheng zheng and prim as Simon. (Though doc’d probably start stuttering at the first mention of sex.)
Jayne almost asked why the girls – them as weren’t occupied – weren’t out with them, but he figured Floyd ran a tight ship. For such a dainty-looking thing he seemed much too comfortable in Jayne’s presence, which meant one of two things: stupidity or some sort of upper hand. Whichever it was, Jayne crossed his arms, making sure to make a show of flexing his arms all menacing-like.
“How long do you want?” said Floyd.
“How much for the night?”
“Forty-five.”
“Fèihuà,” said Jayne. “You think this my first time coming to Bessie’s?”
“That’s the current price.”
Jayne gave his right arm an extra flex. “Not for me it ain’t.” He wanted some trim, certainly, but gorrammit, what that as háizi was asking would get him a full round of bullets. “Go on and ask Macaria. She and others give me discounts.” He gave a cocky grin, remembering the girls.
“Macaria works over at Moonshine with Bessie Mae now.” Floyd paused as Jayne scoffed. “Lots of girls are new – well, relatively. I take it it’s been a while since you’ve stopped by us.”
Jayne figured the pimp had a pretty clear idea just how long it had been since his last visit. He should know better than to ask for a whore by name anyhow.
Floyd jerked his chin towards the cushions by Jayne. “Things have changed, as you can see. Business goes well, quality goes up. Only fair the price goes up as well.” Floyd smiled and fiddled with his belt. “Some of the girls have been reading up on choice Companion tips. Amazing what the drop-out rate for Guild is, too.”
Jayne huffed. “Alright.” The pimp seemed about to speak again but Jayne cut him off: “And don’t be asking for no money up front. I ain’t seen your girls yet and I don’t intend to pay till the morn’.” He leaned forward. “But I do intend to pay.”
The young man nodded softly and stood, smoothing his pant legs mechanically. He gestured to a small cupboard by the silk-screen. “Have a drink if you like. I’ll go fetch the girls.” At the door, Floyd turned to see Jayne already poking amidst the liquor bottles. “Any particular type?”
Jayne leaned his head against the cupboard – wood, he’d noticed – crouched down as he was, and closed his eyes. He thought of all those nights straining on his bunk on Serenity and of all the faces that appeared seconds before he came. They never were the pin-up girls he’d stuck up by his bunk. “Pretty,” he said. He ground his teeth and bit his tongue. Floyd left the room.
Just as Jayne’s picked out a bottle of sake, Floyd popped his head back into the room. “A girl, right? Not feelin’ sly?” Then the cheeky chunrén grinned and winked at Jayne. As he served himself a shot, Jayne heard Floyd whistle a familiar tune as he walked down the hall. Jayne hummed the second verse of “The Royal Hat of Londinium” as he poured another shot.
Delcat 52 – another invented gun-type
yellow – Chinese colour for “earth” and its carrying, supporting function with a connotation of constancy
yanse lang – whore (male)
ni ni - feeble, tiny, young and weak
Floyd – thanks to
earthwhatwere (aka Ginger Snap) for the namelao mao – pimp
zheng zheng ¬– right, proper, correct
fèihuà – nonsense
háizi – boy
Macaria – blessed (Greek name)
sly (Firefly slang) - gay
chunrén - fool/jerk (familiar)
“The Royal Hat of Londinium” – inspired by Mal’s comment, in Firefly ep. 1x01 Serenity, “I’d like to be the king of all Londinuim and wear a shiny hat.”
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Date: 2008-02-06 08:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-06 10:22 pm (UTC)