Notes:

*The characters and their world belong to Mr. Whedon and company; the mistakes and the follies are solely mine.

*I thank you all for such a warm welcome and such shiny comments on my first fic. I've been reading your stories since I discovered this virtual world of Firefly and take joy in thought that I might repay your hard work with some words of mine own.

*Oh my, feedback is inspiring...

*~*

Hot water was exactly what she wanted, upon waking up. She had almost jumped out of bed when he asked if she might enjoy his bathhouse while he saw to some minor business waves. Unprofessional, she chided, scrubbing her arms. But she blessed the well-run staff that had it waiting, the scents of lemons and lavender mixing with steam and a basket full of fluffy towels. She even washed her hair twice, intent on the task and willfully losing track of time. When she walked into his sun-filled morning room, Charles Mang Gong was standing by the window. “Radiant one,” he greeted her, turning, “you put my proud windows to shame. I am delighted to see you; I was worried you might never come out of your bath.” He finished smiling. She immediately blushed, but had a smile of her own. “After months on a spaceship, a warm bath seems an unimaginable luxury. Please excuse me for my—“ “No, no,” he brushed off her seeming embarrassment. “It honors me to know you find pleasure in my home and what I might offer. Lotus is not Sihnon, after all.” “No,” all grace, as she takes the glass of limejuice he offers her, “it is an oasis in the desert.” She almost convinces herself, about the bath, the civil exchange. “I know our time’s short, but there was one thing I was hoping to discuss with you, perhaps over breakfast?” “I’m sure you could speak of nothing unpleasing.” “It is, however, business related. Would that be unacceptable conversation for the morning?” “I see no problem with the topic.” “There are many circles of information in this ‘verse, a fact I believe you to be much aware of, more so, perhaps, than even your most accomplished sisters on Sihnon.” Inara inclines her head, the picture of ease, though mentally sorting through possible subjects this opening might lead too, and possible exits the morning room might provide. Stop, she told herself, as she realized what she was doing. Too much Mal’s influence, she sighed. Or Zoe’s. Exits. As though a companion would need to run from a situation. She pulled herself back to Mang Gong. “--come to my attention through one of these less...regular sources, that the captain of your ship is both discrete and resourceful. I believe he might be just the man I am looking for.” She prickles a bit, but reads no anger or threat in his polished words, amused posture. “I, uh, ” – gos se Inara, just talk— she curses herself, “I’m not sure I can speak to the discrete nature of Captain Reynolds, but he has managed to collect an unusual circle of clients.” Full stop, full smile across her mouth and eye. “I am hoping you will help me join such a list.”

*~*~*

Translations: mang: dragon gong: title of nobility ~ duke or prince (or so I read). gos se: vulgarity (of Inara’s choice)