Yup, so this bit of fluffernutter crept in my head and refused to leave until I put it out here. So enjoy, and leave somethin' if you feel so inclined.

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The man wore suspenders.

She never thought she could love a man with such terrible taste. Then again, she never thought she would admit to loving a man like Malcom Renoylds either.

"So, we're going to have to leave Persephone a day early," he announced, barging into her shuttle and scaring her so badly she almost dropped the delicate teacup in her hand.

"Excuse me?" she snaps, slamming down the cup in a most unladylike fit of anger. "Mal, you can't keep doing this to me! I have-"

"To keep up your whoring, I know." he holds up a hand. "But I'm going to make it up to you"

Her mouth hangs agape, stunned as she is by this revelation. "You're going to what?"

"Make it up to you. Ain't fair you always havin' to leave your high-class shindigs 'for you even get there." He leans in closer, hooking his thumbs through those dammable suspenders. "Dress to impress, 'Nara. Dinner's in an hour."

Before she can reply, he's striding out of her shuttle in that damn self-confident way he has, whistling carelessly to add insult to injury. She counts to ten before moving, since screaming at the top of her lungs would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to her. Moving to her cortex, she signals the client she was supposed to see that evening.

You want to dance, Malcom Renyolds? She thinks nastily to herself behind a beautific smile. Well, it takes two to tango.

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He cleans up real nice, snapping the red suspenders on his chest with a smile of satisfaction. He is a smartly dressed man, he thinks, for being in the black and all. He throws on a black jacket, one he only pulls out for special occasions or jobs that warrant a nattily dressed captain. More often the latter though, he frowns. Tying a red cravat loosely under his collar, he gives