Angelle is mine, the rest is Joss's.

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Persephone...beautiful, serene, and the fastest place for a hired killer like myself to find a decent ride to get from here to there. Besides, it also gave me an excuse to check out the new dresses and maybe grab a new pair of shoes. You never know when you might get asked out to a fancy shindig and not have a thing to wear.

Name's Angelle. Was born in the middle of a Bayou planet this side of nowhere and a little left of don't care. Had a father, who was the brownest Browncoat I have ever met and a mother, who loved my big brother far more than me. Think it had something to do with the fact everyone in our little spec of a village thought my brother and I had been switched at birth. He learned to quilt and I learned the proper way to stitch up a knife wound. My first was on myself. Those gators can be right angry when you get caught stealing their eggs out from under them.

Maybe that's why the Academy wanted my brother and not me, though I suspect my father destroyed my letter for fear of losing me to those Alliance bastards. My mother had never been prouder and made sure to read that wretched piece of paper to everyone and at every function until the day he left. Sadly and I truly mean that (wink wink) it somehow got misplaced after that, later to be found tore to bits by the dog size rats we shared our town with. If ever my father was right, he could gloat as to how right he was about the Academy. In less than a month, my brother stopped writing my mother and within three, we received his body home in a coffin. They had said he was taking drugs and ODed, but no one took better care of his body than my brother. I knew something just wasn't right and as we all mourned his loss, I readied myself for what I knew would be the next step.

We had fought in the War, or at least, my dad and his buddies did. He wanted to me to stay home and take care of my family. I hated him for it. Everyone knew I had a talent to master any weapon I picked up since we ate what we killed and with a father like mine, well, I was holding a gun and knife when most babes would have been shaking a rattle.

When he came back, wounded, but still claiming brown, his stories were what kept me going. He would speak of heroes from battles that all I could do was dream about. While the fire roared and I lay curled around our hunting dog, Patch, I learned of the 57th and of a ballsy Sarge and his very beautiful dark skinned shadow, who went very few places without him. My father would tease saying if he had a daughter, Mal would have been his perfect match for her. Guess it was a good thing he didn't. (again with the winks)

My mother sadly couldn't take being without her son and I was hardly a replacement, though I did try. I learned how to quilt, to actually be a girl, but it wasn't enough. Shortly after my brother's death and the end of the War, we found her dead, the knife my father had given her for protection buried deep within her chest. As much as my mother had not been there for me, I took it pretty hard.

After her funeral, well, that's when I decided it was time for me to take care of my father and use the talent the gods had given me. With the connections he still had and the Browncoats that had found refuge from the Alliance at my disposal, I became quite the gun for hire. The only thing was, well, I worked alone. After all, I surely didn't need anything else to get attached to.

“So, pretty lady, lookin' for a ride?” His breath stank worse than swamp gas in the middle of July and I could have probably driven the ship he was selling through the holes in his teeth.

“Like my ships a little more space worthy than yours.'

“What are you sayin', Bitch?” he growled, my hand falling to the revolver tucked deep under my black coat. “Betsy here can run with the best of them. Unless your looking for something more luxury class...should have known by your dress you were one of those prissy gals.”

Now, I have been called a lot of things, some best not repeated in church, in front of children and even in some bars, but never once had this swamp born girl been called prissy. I felt right insulted and probably would have said something about it, had not our twosome suddenly become a threesome.

“This man bothering you?” A rich baritone voice that could send chills done the Ice queen herself not spoke of to my left. I pride myself in one thing, I may be a girl, but I try my very hardest not to be a girl in the strictest sense possible. I mean I'm human and attraction is part of the game. My father had said once that if it wasn't for his dick and its firm way of taking over his thoughts when my mother was around, well, he wouldn't have ever gotten married or had children. Of course, I would tell him that one...talking about sex with your daughter is just wrong on so many levels and two, it is pure impossible to have children without a dick. He would just smile and laugh, muttering something about details before shooting another squirrel for our dinner.

“Not at all. In fact, I was just leaving.” I turned to meet this gorgeous voice head on. After all, no one made me out to be a girl without my approval and to hell was I going to let him get a way with it. At least, that was my thought until I was face to face with him. Ever heard the expression the best laid plans of mice and men...Ya, me too.

“Sounded more like you need a ride?” He smiled as I faced him, the voice matching its owner in every way possible. Blue eyes, brown hair, nice body...if I wasn't what I was...what did he say?

“I am.” I muttered allowing my eyes to travel and spot what I should have the moment I turned, his brown coat. Most would say it was there because he liked to wear brown, or he got it cheap, but when you are born to a man that bleeds brown, well, you know why the man wears a brown coat. “Got a name?”

“Yup. Don't see why it's any of your business.” Spoken like a true Browncoat.

“Fair enough. What if I were to tell you my Sire is Samual Marcs, better known to anyone in the war as the...

“Swamp Rat Sam.” It was whispered, almost under his breath as am Alliance guard past by us. “He spoke of a daughter.”

I could tell by the way he stared this man knew my dad well, probably more so than any man I had met from the war save the buddies that had taken up residence in our village. He was still a lot younger than most of my dad's war buddies, this one was possibly about ten years my senior. My gut told me that though I had never met him, I knew a lot more about this man than I had first thought.

“Sir, Serenity is ready to go when you are.” Behind us, another voice spoke and I damned myself again for not being alert enough to notice. Maybe it was for the best that I walk away and forget what I had just saw and heard, take a different path than the one that was about to come spiraling down upon me and just maybe I could get out clean. Why is it that I never listen to the voice of reason and instead turned to face the other voice, the voice of a dark skinned woman who had only lived in the stories of my father... “Sargent Reynolds,” I muttered it, not once thinking it was aloud or that he would hear me. Instead, my voice caught in my throat as I realized just who was standing before. “I haven't been called that in a long while.” He grinned. “I'm sorry, Sir. I just never, well, never thought I'd meet you. Could say my father was a big fan. Your stories were what passed time on our little swamp infested piece of heaven, Sir.”

“Most call me Mal.” He looked around me at his second and mouthed something as she simply nodded, heading away from us toward the docking yards. I watched her go as her well trained body scanned the crowd for any threat that might pop up. She was as much solider as I was killer. “Your dad? How is the old man?”

“Ornery as ever, Sir. Still keeping the fires lit and taking care of the fallen that need it.”

“Still makin' weapons?”

“Until the day he dies, Sir.”

“You gonna stop callin' me Sir?”

“When you tell me I can,” I smiled. “My father finds out that I met you and didn't have enough respect to call you Sir, well, it has been a long time since I've been beat, Sir, but I think he just might make an exception,Sir.”

“He said you were stubborn.”

“I truly hope that's all he told you.” I took an audible gulp. Knowing my father and the way he talked when he had been drinking heavily, which was most of the time, I was lucky Mal didn't run the other way. If there was one thing Sam did well was talk and most of it had no business seeing the light of day.

“So where you headed?”

“Whitefall,” I spoke, not knowing whether I should state my business there or leave it with a casual understanding that if I was headed there, then I must want to do something.

“Serenity's heading that way. Have room for another, if you can stand flyin' with this old Sarge.”

Sadly, I could feel the red creeping up my face and my hand wrapped around my gun for comfort. No, I wasn't going to use it, but right now, it was about the only firm thing I had to hold on to besides him and I didn't need that to explain away. “I never said you were old. My father is old and most of his war buddies were around when the first starship took to the sky...” I stopped when I saw him grin, the same grin my father gave me when I was either rambling or when he just wanted me to shut up. I had gotten pretty use to it. “I take it Serenity is a ship.”

“Firefly class, none better.”

“Like the name. Most of the ones you talk to would rather forget that day.”

“I'm not most. You want that ride or not?”

I bent to grab the bag that had slid from my shoulder earlier and reached into my pocket for a wad of cash. “I would love to join you.”

He studied the money I handed and looked at me. “I didn't say you needed to pay me, woman, Your Sam's girl...:

“Damn right I am and if he found out I took a ride from you without payment...well, remember the beating I spoke of earlier...”

“Just exactly what did your dad tell you about me.”

I tried to hold back the grin that split wide across my face. “I could tell who you were by the clothes you wear and the company you keep. I guarantee you, Sir, he left nothing out.”

“Guess that would make us even.”

“Unfortunately, it does.” I turned away from him as I grimaced a bit. The stories I am sure my father told him, the man was dead when I got home. “Which way to your ship?”

“Straight ahead. They'll be expecting us.”