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Chapter Six

In Which there is a Wave, an Irritating Pilot, and a Dance (sort of)

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A/N: Warning: Gratuitous use of Irish phrases. Wanna know what they mean? Check the glossary at the bottom. I tried to get the grammar as correct as possible…my Irish is pretty bad. OK really bad. Yeah, fine, I’ve been studying less than a month.

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Four days in to the trip, and six out from Hibernia, Saoirse and River were sitting in the cargo bay playing and singing alternately. Jayne and the Shepherd were working out just a few feet away, Book tapping his toes as he spotted the merc. Jayne finished his set, sat up and growled,

“Can’t y’all make that noise someplace else?”

“It’s not noise.” River insisted. “I’m facilitating Saoirse’s desire to hold on to some vestigial cultural attachment to certain songs and styles of music, including, but not limited to, reels, polkas, jigs, sea shanties and so-called ‘pub songs’. The ethnic Irish on Londinium before the colonization of Hibernia were often fiercely attached to the things that defined them as ‘Irish’, especially living under an oppressive regime with no such emotional connection. Music, Gaelic sports, the Irish language, place names. It’s a common response. The tendency seems to have carried on to their descendants. Pointless.”

“Thanks.” Saoirse was staring at the girl in exasperated amusement. “Jesus,-” the Shepherd coughed a little pointedly “I mean, gracious, and here I just thought you liked ‘em.”

“Oh I do! Especially the dirty ones!”

Jayne looked a little gob smacked throughout River’s speech, but brightened at the mention of dirty songs.

“There’s dirty ones?”

Saoirse graced him with a wicked grin.

“Oh, boy, oh boy. I know hundreds. If the Shepherd doesn’t mind…?”

“Well,” Book grunted as he lay back for his set. “I suppose I must technically protest, but I think I could arrange a little temporary deafness in the name of Jayne’s musical education.”

“Ta, Shepherd.” And she immediately launched into a song which seemed to