Cotton Avenue

Nina Clark 2008

“To hear the shiny, shiny music; see all the shiny people dancing to it…” Joni Mitchell

The first assault on the senses was the heat. It introduced itself like a flirt, an infectiously lazy vibe, imperceptibly raising the bar for the evening’s revelry. As they wandered through the door, drawn from the street by the promising sounds from within, a muddle of limbs pulsed before them in a haze of colourful perspiration, squeezing and kneading like baker’s hands.

“Hell yeeah!” Kaylee exclaimed, already unzipping her gilet, the electric blue turning a deep purple from the club’s crimson glow. She turned to the Captain, her eyes alight with desire. Mal smiled beatifically at his mechanic, already fool to the intoxicating temperature. “We stayin’ then?” she smiled winningly at his nodding assent.

The aroma of chewed betel hung on the air, pervading the senses; a languorous hint. Wash made purposefully for the bar, whilst Zoë scanned the room subtly for potential threats. Happy to find no apparent troublemakers, she confirmed this with a nod to the Captain and moved over to her husband.

“Make mine a whisky...” he called after her.

Mal watched their intimacy, and felt if not a pang then something approaching it. In the rare moments he allowed himself pause for reflection, even the slightest peek through the crack into his psyche would alarm him. His innermost thoughts, when given illumination, were filled with…her. Of course.

Still, tonight was that illusive thing; a moment to unwind. To be himself, in the truest sense. The happy, charming man he once was. But there he went again, lingering. Not tonight. Not if he had any say in it. Where was that drink?

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“Oh, honey… I never knew you could dance like that!” Kaylee grinned sweetly at River, who positively glowed as they moved from the dance floor to the table now inhabited by their fellow shipmates.

“Nor did I.” the younger woman was in her element and found it to be a totally new realm. When she danced, the pieces that usually lay so broken in her became one. It was exhilarating; pure freedom. “This music…moves me.” She smiled.

The sounds from the podium were indeed having a desirable effect on everyone. It seemed as the beats and notes grew in passion, so did the company. Mal and Jayne were engaged in a humourously heated banter, both fueled by an ever-increasing supply of whiskey and cigars. They seemed to be positively pally, which Kaylee noted with delight, and a fleeting moment of concern as to the evenings expense.

“You boys are makin’ short work of that bottle!” she remarked with a wink at Zoë, who, though tipsy was keeping an eye on proceedings.

“Don’t you worry none, lil’ Kaylee. Me and Jayne here are discussin’ the finer points of brawlin’ and that takes some thoughtful ponderin’…which takes booze!” Mal almost slurred the last word for effect, eliciting another hearty laugh from his mechanic. Truth be told, he was play acting the drunk a little for general amusement, it being almost never that his crew, his family, saw him unwound and carefree. Hell, let ‘em enjoy it. He was certainly taking his fair share of pleasure from theirs.

“Where’s Simon?” asked River idly, her eyes wandering the room in search of her brother, though feeling no sense of panic or cause for it. Thinking this in itself remarkable, she turned her attention back to the table.

“Off taking the air with Shepherd Book, they said they’d not be overlong.” Wash had a tendency to emulate whatever drink he imbibed. Whilst Mudder’s Milk produced raucousness in him, the fruity cocktail jug he and Zoë were sharing had begun to work its magic on him, colouring his language with flourishes.

Kaylee’s smile sagged slightly at Simon’s absence, something Jayne’s hawk eye noted at once. In turn, his own mood threatened a downturn, but he mentally kicked his ass for showing it. He sometimes wondered what might have been if the Doc hadn’t joined Serenity. With Simon’s distracting prettiness and airs, Kaylee was swept up in a romance Jayne knew was a mistake. And didn’t the damn boy just underline that with each passing day. Snubbing her advances, squirming at her free and easy way, showing himself perfectly inadequate to the task of satisfying so brilliant and luminous a creature as Kaylee Frye. Some days it took all of Jayne’s oft-overlooked will power not to grab the oik by his fancy shirt and shake him for not appreciating the mighty gift she was trying to bestow on the ungrateful ingrate. Some days he did shake him, or at the very least knock past him menacingly. But he never let on why.

“Don’t fret girls, the Doc’ll be safe with the Shepherd; knows how to look after his flock, that one.” Jayne nodded his approval of Book’s many hidden talents and satisfied himself they were assured.

“Not worried. Just asking.” A shrug, and River reached for an empty glass and the cocktail jug, which Wash passed her delicately. Having poured herself a full measure, she downed the glass in one and burped behind her hand. “More dancing.” It was not a suggestion so much as a cheerful order.

“Be right with you honey. Just gonna catch my breath for a sec’; right behind ya.” With that, River took once again to the floor and was consumed by the jubilant crowd.

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Their limbs were a maze of shapes, lines drawn in the air recalling an elaborate mime, or a mystical pattern with so many hidden meanings. Moving as one, like a many-headed god of abandon, feet touched and thighs bumped pleasingly. Backs began as fronts ended, the space between aquiver, heavy with the knowledge of every unspoken, unnecessary word the action allowed them to forget.

What bliss it was to dance! To unshackle the soul so entirely, move without insecurity or the burdens of rim life. Absolution. Reprieve. Mercy and joy and…fun! Becoming a thing of exquisite silliness for one night, even one in millennia, was to know true peace.

River thought none of these things. She thought nothing at all. And the miracle performed itself over and over in the beautiful void of her brain in that moment. She was a whirlwind, a coil of smoke from the embers, a constellation in motion, a girl in her elemental state; purity itself.

She danced on.

As she opened her eyes and looked down at her feet, a thought finally invaded the white space inside. Red shoes. Laughing suddenly, the absurdity of the thought hit her. She could see her own thought processes laid before her like a map, all the possible tributaries of paranoia and suggestion that were her affliction. Red Shoes. A dervish, possessed and furious, battling herself. Orange Glow. The heart of Serenity, which would inevitably save her from Blue Hands. And in a glimmering second River chose not to think any of it, not to succumb to the torture of knowing, or feeling...everything. She saw, yet didn’t and was not afraid.

If she never stopped dancing would this feeling never end?

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“I tell ya, it can’t be done, neither should be if’n it could!” Mal proclaimed this merrily like gospel, finding the object of winding up his pilot under the auspices of a dare quite the crowd-pleaser.

“Well, Cap’n…” he slurred the word with deliberate intent, “...how can you be so sure, and righteous with it, seeing as you’ve never tried it yourself? Are you really in any position to comment, deficient in experience as you are?”

“Oh, ‘deficient’ is it now, to know a foolhardy undertaking when I see one? And, might I add, one stricken with impossibilities!” Mal smirked at the indignant look overcoming Wash’s face, and snorted as the man stormed, somewhat sideways, to the bar.

“What in the…Mal, what you up t’? The little man’s takin’ on so, looks likely to fit!” Jayne leaned on his palm, cigar in mouth.

“Just playin’ a little Devil’s Advocate, that’s all.”

“That like the drink?” Jayne looked quizzical and blinked at Kaylee who giggled, shaking her head.

Wash returned to them, one hand aloft, bearing an enormous jug of the fruity cocktail, the other clutching several straws.

Slamming the jug in their midst, allowing a healthy portion overboard, he reseated daintily and began handing out straws. Zoë groaned slightly, taking her straw nevertheless, and shuffled forward on the bench.

“Now that little mess should count as cheatin’!” observed Mal wryly. Wash raised an eyebrow, but quirked the corner of his mouth to convey his own acknowledgement of the roles they were playing for the benefit of the party. A small moment passed between the two then, and Wash, ever the joker chose to break it by inserting a straw up his left nostril.

“Let the games begin!” _______________________ * _______________________ * ___________________

“I do see your point, Simon. Your sister has indeed made some progress since the escapade with the bounty hunter. A measure of independence has been achieved, if not equilibrium. She begins to integrate herself. Adapt some. But you worry still.” The Shepherd turned, halting their walk.

“If our encounter with Jubal Early has taught me anything, it is that River and I remain a priority for the Alliance, a problem for which they require resolution. One bounty hunter will not be the extent of their efforts, surely?” Simon frowned.

“It will not. They will try again. You’re right to fear them; the Alliance has resources you or I cannot imagine.”

“Can’t you?” Simon raised an eyebrow at Book, resisting the desire to probe further. “I already spend my waking moments looking over my shoulder. We are so vulnerable, even on the move. If we could be penetrated out in the black, we must be that much easier to find here, or on any world where we might choose to hide. They’ll never stop searching for us.” There was a dreadful finality in saying this out loud.

“Then,” Book spoke calmly, reason underlining his words, “you must become steely. If this is to be your life, out on the rim, existing from one day to the next, you ought to accept that.”

“I have!” protested Simon, with a hint of indignation. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Book smiled, wondering how much the boy could take. He was barely a man, after all. “You are. But your bearing and demeanour, even your clothes belie that commitment. You reek of the core life, a life which is no longer your own, but which you cannot truly relinquish. You cling to your behaviours and ways, convinced they will save you somehow, in the end, when the truth is they might be your downfall.”

“Then what would you have me do, Shepherd? Ought I take up arms against the Alliance? I’m not a fighter, you know I…”

“I’d be a fool to suggest it! And you deliberately misconstrue my meaning.” Book sighed, weary of this conversation now, regretting diving in. A different tack, perhaps. “I know you’ve grown a fondness for some of the crew, what man wouldn’t? These are good people. For all my own spiritual wranglings with the Captain, he is a good man. He’s proven his loyalty on more than one occasion; it is where he draws his strength. The crew. The family he has created give him reason to go on. As you must go on for River. You would do well to let yourself be part of that family. It could just be the fulcrum you need.” Feeling this point of view might take a spell to consider, Book chose this moment to take the younger man by the elbow and steer him back towards Cotton Avenue. The night was creeping away from them. ____________________*_______________________*________________________ “SUCK! SUCK! SUCK! SUCK! SUUUUUCK!! OHHHhhh…” As yet another contestant failed to inhale their two fingers of liquid, an uproarious howl of mirth erupted at the table. Wash had fallen at the first hurdle, to much ribbing from the Captain. Insisting that the first round was a practice, he promised to show them how it was done when he could next breathe to do so. Mal had lasted three seconds before spitting the entire mouthful over his shoulder in disgust, whilst Zoe had achieved an admirable one finger. Jayne had just lost face, having been only second to Mal in his inability to consume the required amount, and now it was Kaylee’s turn.

Sitting up straight on the bench, she determinedly pulled the jug towards her and, wiping her nose sweetly on her sleeve, placed the straw up her right nostril. Never one to balk at a challenge, she adopted her best resolve face and dove in.

“SUCK! SUCK! SUCK! WOOAAAHH!!!”

Kaylee lifted her head from the jug, victorious and smugly glowing at the praise from her fellow game-mates, straw still hanging from nose, as Simon chose that inopportune moment to rejoin the company. Snorting in horror, the straw flew from her nose, landing at his feet. A beat passed, as all heads turned to the two, awaiting the awkward mutterings that would doubtless ensue.

Simon paused, then stooped to pick up the straw, flicking it in a practised way, as he might a syringe.

“Think you dropped this.” Kaylee reached out to take the offending article from his hand, only to gawp as he inserted it up his own nose and sat down beside her, leaning over the jug. “Can anyone play, or do you have to be hammered?”

‘Huh…’ thought Book, as he sat down opposite the doctor, ‘...maybe, it won’t take him so long after all.’

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