Disclaimer: They're all Whedon's.

Mal and His Mollymawk

by Ariane

The Boot is not the classiest bar in Culloden, Persephone, but neither is it the crudest. Ananda's having a fairly good time at any rate. The light beer is just fine with her, though there aren't enough corners or booths or clouds of cigarette smoke for her to be confident that Mal can't see that she's got it.

Andie was pleased as anything when she found out that she, Mariel, and Aunt River would be spending the summer at the Reynolds' ranch, hanging out with Ben and riding every day. Before they left, Mal had a serious conversation with her daddy: "Yes, I'll babysit your damn kids. No, when do I ever get anyone in trouble? Yeah, yeah, your sister can kill me with her brain. Can we go now?" If he sees Andie with alcohol, he'll haul her pi gu home faster than you can say--

"Mollymawk, what's that you got?"

"Cider?" she tries.

"Ain't you a riot," he says, leaning against a vacant pool table and holding his hand out. "Gimme that."

Andie rolls her eyes and wraps her hands tighter around the glass. "Come on. One drink. Barely even a drink--it's just beer."

"Oh, is that all?" he says, raising his eyebrows as though mightily impressed. "Well, then you can explain that to your daddy when I drag you down the street to his clinic and tell him to smell your breath. Ain't growin' up a bar harpy."

Andie giggles in half-disbelief. "Bar harpy?"

She's made him feel silly, which is something of a victory. "I--well, that's just--you--" Aw, screw it, his expression says. "Give it here, girl."

She pouts, but does as she's told. "Mama wouldn't mind. And I know you don't mind."

"Nope."

"Then why--"

"Been over that, mollymawk."

"Ben drinks." Now she's just being petty. But he's spoiled her fun, so she feels like some pettiness is warranted.

Mal is supremely unimpressed with pettiness, always has been. "Ben's eighteen and legal. Wait three years and you will be, too."

"Uncle Mal," Andie says, pushing her luck