Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly, or any of the characters therefrom. Joss Whedon, FOX and the studios that the BDM was filmed by do. More’s the pity, ‘cause if I did, I certainly wouldn’t let that be all there was.

Spoilers: Shindig.

All translations have been taken from the Serenity RPG manual. Cross-posted at my blog and on fanfiction.net.

He should have been paying attention to what that hick was saying, instead of to the tone in her voice as she answered the other man’s greeting. If he’d been doing has he ought, Atherton might have been able to refuse Reynolds’s request in a socially acceptable manner. (Never mind that there really was no way to do so.) But he had been too busy pondering the difference in Inara’s voice from just a few moments before.

Before, her voice had been as warm and lovely as the tones of a fine viola, not unlike the ancient Stradivarius from Earth-that-Was he’d once heard played solo on Londinium; now, it still reminded him of the masterwork viola, but there was something different to its timbre. Some added extra that had nothing—or was it everything?—to do with the irritation she used to color it.

He was shaken from his reverie as Inara’s arm was pulled from fingers he hadn’t realized had tightened in the few seconds that had passed since she had introduced that feh feh pi goh.

As he turned to watch her dance and ignore the “Captain,” he pondered what that difference could have been, but it was so mo min chi meow that when he heard Sir Harrow’s mocking compliment, the thought left him entirely for a moment.

“I know what’s mine,” he answered, putting as much scorn as he could into the sentiment, not looking away from the dance floor as he spoke, propriety be damned.

And then it was there again—that indefinable something—even though the dance had barely begun. Only this time, he couldn’t hear her voice. It was in the way she moved as she danced. He had seen her dance before—held her, even, as she did it. She was