Malific by wytchcroft

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Malific
Wednesday, August 22, 2007

MALIFIC: An About Face Interlude:

There was a polite round of applause.
The sophisticated, self-consciously civilised music of classical strings, waltz time and the ambient tinkling of jewelled fingers, cups and plates -china, of course.
Shindig like this, he thought – and they always gotta go with the china. Never a good idea, so damned fragile. Always bound to end up bro-
“Captain Malcolm Reynolds and The Most respectable Inara Serra”. A smooth voice ushered them in.
“Fancy aint it!” Kaylee looked up at him from under a wayward lock of red hair. She took in the room beyond. “So… fine.” She gave a wide grin. Threw her arms around him.
“I love my Captain.” She said.
“Daddy” said River from behind her.
“Well, shiny….” Said Reynolds gently prying himself loose. “Although – ‘Daddy’? I thought I told you before not to – and where’s Inara’s got to?”
Kaylee grinned again. “Oh, she’s over there.” She waved. “Y’know. Dancing. Looking beautiful. Over there. With the other man.”
“What?!”
“One wearing a shirt.” Kaylee giggled.
Mal realised he was clad only in his vest and pants. In his hands he was carrying a big beaker full of strong smelling beer.
River looked at him earnestly. “You think you’re remembering it all wrong. But you’re not.” Her eyes were full of concern.

Ok, so – confusion – but he didn’t have time for this right now. He had to – he was supposed to have come here with Inara for rut’s sake. And she was off – well, we’ll soon see about that. And he plunged forward into the smoothly dancing flow of people.
There!
Inara was swaying gracefully the fingertips of a gloved hand touching those of – yes gorram it – a stranger. Tall, well built. Wearing a decorated suit or fancy uniform. There were medals upon the chest. As Reynolds approached them, Inara turned with a hot look “Honestly!” she said, “I should’ve known you would-”
Mal scowled in reply “I’m just here to look out for -”
The other man cut him off sharply. “Look out for what Malcolm. A whore? Isn’t that just like you – think she belongs to you huh? Like your ship, your crew, your-” he laughed unpleasantly. “Family?”
Mal’s fist began to clench.
The man had not finished. “See though – I don’t believe Family’s built on the same things you do – dirt, crime, sin, whoring and the like. Family’s built on loyalty. Loyalty comes from the recognition of power. And I don’t see any power in you.”
He nodded at Mal’s raised fist.
“Can’t say as I blame you for being angry – truth hurts, as they say. Tho’ I reckon,” -
He struck out suddenly with a lean hard fist, sending Mal sprawling to the ornately polished floor – “that probably hurt a deal more.”
Staggering, Mal rose on unsteady legs. He lurched forward. Heedless of Inara’s waving him away.
The two again came face to face.
They shared the same face.
Mal stared open mouthed.
The other Mal spoke up anew. “Oh you may stare Captain Reynolds. But what are you really seeing here? You think I’m a bad person – think I disrespect your whore? Think you are yourself of worth and without stain? – well… correct me but, here’s a thing, you want this woman? Take her for your own? Well I have eyes myself now.
And I can plainly see – you’re married already.”

HUH?

“It’s true!” Inara’s voice was accusing. She raised a hand, a slim finger pointing to his temple, pointing to his crown. His own fingers reached up to it now – slowly – feeling at first just the hard edges of his skull, then the wiry tangle of his hair and then – petals…in wonder, he realised that there were petals upon his head – bound together like a wreath.
A marriage wreath.
“No – no” he said hurriedly, “you don’t – I’m not – hold on a gorram minute here!” He could smell the fresh flower fragrance, it conjured up warm nights, a contented belly full of mead and a pretty lass, smiling before him – handing him the flowers, handing him the wreath.
“It was never real,” he began staring at the faces floating before him. His vision was blurry. Wiped his eyes. “I never”- there was blood on his finger tips. Musta pricked himself, he thought, somewhere in amongst the rose petals there must be –
“Thorns now.” Said Mal looking on at himself. His expression was of mild rebuke.
Next to him, Inara tutted. “Honestly Mal – looking to become a martyr to the cause?”

WHA?

He could feel his head hurting now – the thorns digging in.
Real anger flushed hotly through him. “Wait – again – just wait a GORRAM minute – I never went looking to be no dead hero – I never had no yen for the big black – not for me – every time I have seen it coming down? I have looked it straight in the eye and stood my ground – never once wished that cloud would come upon me.”

“Are you sure?” asked Zoe – her hand upon Mal’s rigid shoulders as he gazed out upon Serenity valley, bathed now in the sulphuric lights of the Alliance bombardment
“Never wanted to taste what all the men you knew here tasted? What you lead them to, Sir.”
“No!”
Inara snorted. “Of course he does – that’s Mal all over.”
Mal shook himself – glaringly somehow both at her and Zoe - from face to face and from world to world.
“I have” he said slowly “NEVER wanted that for myself.”
“What about me Mal?” asked Wash with genial accusation. “I mean sure – I get it – I mean, believe me Mal, I hear where you’re gong with this, no, wait - where are you going with this? Oh that’s right – my death. Buddy – I’m the one surfing the big dirt kahuna – and for what? – so you could feel better about what happened at Serenity? Or worse about finally winning your war?
Does feeling worse make it better?
Do you feel better Mal?- coz newsflash!- I don’t!”
“Don’t suppose you feel much of anything right now, Wash.” said Shepherd Book.
“Hmm, kinda nauseous actually, a little – Y‘know - I think I may actually be allergic to gravel…” voices fading away.
Enough. Enough now.
“This is all wrong.”
Mal’s voice sounded dry as he awoke and sat up. Around him, the figures of Simon and Kaylee and the others drew back in alarm.
There was a chorus of guttural galactic Chinese. “He aint dead!”

“Course I aint dead.” He heard himself say. “Just a little scar. They fixed me up real good. You can hardly tell.” His fingers traced a line on his chest. “But what’s under here? Worth a fortune… I had to do it – only thing I had left to lose, so y’know I figure, best sell it while I can.”
Was that really his voice? It sounded younger.
“Guess that makes me as much a whore as you Inara.” He looked towards her.
“Do I know you Sir?” she asked.

Mal could see his face reflected in the med-bay monitor, beeping softly at him next to the couch. He put a hand to his curly hair, stroked a finger against the upturned swing of his nose. Turned back to Inara. “No” he said. “I guess you really don’t”.
He had noticed he was still wearing the wreath – but it was slipping now. It slid past the newly curled hair and down to his oddly pale neck like a
Noose.
He could feel it tighten. Could feel the jerking pull of the rope as it ripped him from his feet, tore the air from him and choked his insides. Swelling them
Inara leaned forward. Her mouth twitched and her eyes looked down significantly. “Hrrmph! Looking a little, um, irritable Mal” she twinkled to herself even as she faded.
Wait – wait – WAIT!
Fighting for air Mal could see the faces of the crowd – their leering expectation, their lynch mob joy. He kicked against them. Kicked against the air.
No! No!
The silent figure of the sheriff turned away.
No – I don’t – this never – choking!
I aint ever been through this before!
This aint ever happened to me!
Not me!
Not yet!

The last thing Mal saw before it was over, were his feet, twisting slowly, slowly, in the wind, in the void. His feet were clad in a pair of something comfy, over size and fluffy.

And them aint my slippers – he thought groggily – wouldn’t catch me dead in –
But he wasn’t dead yet.
He wasn’t dead now.
He was awake.

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