Keepin' her flyin'

The flower itself was a thing of rare and fragile beauty, tucked between a couple of pipes. It was bright pink, fading to red at the tips, like someone had taken it and dipped it lightly into a scarlet dye, scattering droplets of color in its wake. Kaylee's fingers brushed over a petal, half expecting it to disappear under her fingers or be made of silk, but soft as the petal was, it was also real.

A piece of paper hung from the stem, tied with a bit of ribbon the same color as the scarlet petal tips. She unrolled it, something fierce burning in her stomach and fluttering around like a pack of butterflies she'd heard tell about. Just four simple lines were scrawled there in a strong, but pretty, hand.

There be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like Thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me

That was it. ( No signature, no rest of the poem, but it weren't like there was more than one person on the ship who'd go around leaving notes like that.  )

OOC: River, Inara and Simon borrowed without permission of their muns and nothing in this fic should be considered at all binding on them. Unless any of them would like to pick it up and play along at any point. *g*

Kaylee watched the other four sitting around the table. Jayne was sprawling a bit, no manner of manners at all, picking at his teeth while he studied the cards. Mal and Zoe both gave nothing away, though she weren’t particularly sure that they didn’t have some sort of system worked out the way they was winning most of the hands between them. Mal was relaxed, least a bit, a little smile on his lips. Zoe, too, looked to be enjoying herself, and all things considered, Kaylee was right glad to see that for a change. Truth was, they all still missed Wash something fierce, but life went on and they had to or they’d stay still an die, and that weren’t a’tall what he’d have wanted.

Of course, it was Simon who kept her gaze the longest. He didn’t seem t’understand the idea of a poker face in the least, every card he got reflected clear on his expression. His bluffing skills weren’t nothing at all, despite the fact she knew for a fact he’d pulled a good one a time or two. Weren’t like he was ever gonna let her die, that time she’d got shot. Even she’d known that, but Mal sure had believed him then. Seemed as if when River’s life weren’t on the line, he lost that skill, though, ‘cause he had to be about the worst poker player she’d ever seen.

“Kaylee, it’s your turn,” Mal said, his voice cutting across her reverie. “Mind you pay a bit of attention to the game, you hear?”

Kaylee knew her cheeks were hot as she looked down at her cards, then around the table again, before tossing another scrap of paper with her chores written down on it into the pile. “I’m in, with dishes for a week.”

Simon frowned more, and Kaylee could tell, sure as could be, that he ought to fold and take his losses. Likely, they could all tell that, but he glanced at her, then tossed a scrap of paper in. “I’m in, with washing out the cargo room.”

Jayne shook his head. “Boy, you really ain’t got a lick of sense, do you?”

It fell out as it had to, with Simon ending up with a mess of chores in front of him, including most of Kaylee’s.

“Don’t worry,” she said, voice low, when the other’s had gone off to celebrate their victory. “I’ll help.”

He shook his head, hand covering hers, just briefly. “No. You take the week and just relax a bit. Spend some time playing with River or doing whatever you want to do. You deserve some free time.”

“I ain’t the only one,” she protested, but his hand on hers was right distracting, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to take it away, ever.

He didn’t, at least not right away. In fact, he held it a bit tighter and a bit longer, and when he let it go, he was still smiling that smile that made her all warm on the inside and chores and poker were the two last things on her mind.

Ain't nobody gonna tell you that we get the best food out here in the black. We make do with protein and other processed things, canned goods and the like. I try to make it a bit more festive than it might be, but really, there's only so much you can do with most of that.

When we get something fresh, like when the Preacher came on board, it's a real treat. And to my way of thinking, there's nothing that's more of a treat than fresh, real strawberries. Right when they're all ripe and bursting with juice. They're sweet, but not too sweet, 'cause they've always got just that bit of tartness to them. You bite in, an' it's like a little bit of heaven dancing there on your tongue with the sweet and tart all mingling and making your tongue curl up and your cheeks tingle.

I can't ever stop at just one, but I'll take as long as I can with that one, making every bite mean somethin' special, 'cause you never know when you're going to get another one. You got to make it last, and if there's more than one, you got to make that last even longer. It won't do just to gobble them up without takin' the time to savor them, really feel the way they feel and the way that they taste.

At this party we went to once, they had 'em served with cream. It was real cream, too, all thick and sweet, but, like the strawberries, not too sweet. Just right. The strawberries seemed tarter for it, and the cream just swirled all around them like the clouds scattered through a clear atmosphere when you're bringing the ship in low and they just lie there and make everything that much prettier.

I can't think of anything better in the 'verse, least not for eating.