|That Ol' Janx Spirit
Author: Caliente PM
400-word ficlet set post-BDM –– Mal, Inara and Jayne visit a bar after finishing another rough and questionable job. –– implied Mal/Inara, Jayne/OFC; Alphabet Meme: G is for GargleRated: Fiction K - English - Humor/Romance - Mal R. & Inara S. - Words: 500 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 3 - Published: 10-22-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6417815
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: For Kelly who requested Firefly/Serenity with the prompt gargle. Set post-film. Title comes from Douglas Adam's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which is not mine—nor is the drink referenced in the story. Unbeta'd, so if there are mistakes, do let me know! Cheers.
Disclaimer: Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of Fox/Joss Wheadon. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.
That Ol' Janx Spirit
"Today was—" Mal dropped onto a stool bonelessly.
Inara sat down beside him, more primly but no less tired. "Yes. It really was."
Jayne plopped on Mal's other side, a cigar in mouth. "And those gorram—" Suddenly his spine straightened. Inara and Mal both followed his line of sight to a large bosomed woman. (No surprise there.) She smiled coyly at Jayne and he was off again with nothing more than a grunt and hasty wave.
Pursing her lips, she turned to Mal. "Wow. They just—"
"Yup," Mal agreed with a nod. Then he returned his attention to the bartender, signaling him. "What's the strongest drink ya got?"
The barkeep was wiping some glasses of questionable cleanliness as he considered the question. "Prob'ly the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster."
"The Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster," Mal repeated dubiously. The barman nodded. "What the hell? Lay one on me."
Inara placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention again, and shook her head. "Mal, you don't want that drink—trust me."
But that would be too easy, so he questioned her instead: "Why not?"
"Mal, I'm serious." She looked it, too. "You really don't want to drink that."
"Fine." He waved at the bartender. "Change that to a glass of whiskey wouldja?"
The man paused, shrugged and then nodded again.
Mal returned his attention to Inara. "So you gonna give me a reason why your knickers went all twisty or what?"
"Well," Inara rested her chin in her palm, "it has a habit of knocking people unconscious."
Shrugging, Mal took a drink of the whisky that'd been placed in front of him. "At this point, I don't think I'd mind."
Inara inclined her head. "Maybe not but I would."
A lazy smirk replaced his previously dour expression. "Oh? Got plans for me, do ya?"
"Mm-hmm." Inara smiled prettily. "I do indeed."
Mal finished his drink in one large gulp and slapped some money on the bar before standing and offering a hand to Inara.
She accepted his help like the ladies she'd been trained to emulate would and allowed him to guide her toward the exit.
He leaned his head down, so she could hear him over the din of the bar. "So are we gonna—?"
"Uh-huh." Inara didn't try to hide her grin when he picked up his pace—and by proxy, hers—as they made for the ship.