Cantonese Opera (Mal/Inara; rated R)
POSTED BY: Nos4a2no9
UPDATED: Saturday, April 8, 2006 00:11
VIEWED: 2034
PAGE 1 of 1
Hi everyone,
I haven't posted to fireflyfans.net before, and I'm not entirely sure how to post new fic, so if this isn't kosher or if there's someplace else to put Blue Sun Room items, please let me know and I'll put in the quick fix.
Title: Cantonese Opera
Author: Nos4a2no9
Spoilers: Set one week after the BDM
Rating: R/NC-17
Characters: Mal/Inara
Word Count: 5,046
Disclaimer: Mal and Inara (and their angst!) belong to Joss. I merely make them do naughty things to each other.
Summary: Late nights on Serenity lead to some unexpected confrontations...
Cantonese Opera
The soprano’s voice darted and soared, bird-like, around the small confines of his cabin. The orchestra backing wasn’t much: a few strings, some woodwinds, a gong keeping up a steady, reverberating thrum beneath it all. But the woman’s voice didn’t really require the support. Her voice was more beautiful than the words she was singing, saying more than the route subject matter of the aria – love lost and found – could ever manage on its own. Probably why this opera star was making headlines all over Sihnon, illegal downloads proliferating across the Cortex and into the black. And Mal liked the thought of it, this angel’s voice speeding through the stars, beaming itself right into Serenity‘s hold and pouring out the woofers in his bunk, a wave of beauty washing over everything gone tired and gray. He was almost glad he didn’t know the Chinese dialect of the opera well enough to understand every word: the mystery made the whole thing a little more private-like, as if she’d crossed all those miles of darkness just to sing for him.
It was the most unexpected and immediate consequence of the revelations about Miranda. While the news that the Alliance had created the Reavers didn’t quite topple the government, it had certainly freed things up a bit. Now restricted music and art flooded the Cortex; books that had been banned since the war were available to anyone with a good IAN connection, and folks on the Rim could access whatever their hearts desired in the way of culture, entertainment and news. Old flicks from Earth-That-Was, new operas like the one he was currently enjoying, novels, short stories, poetry...it sure as hell opened things up. Of course, Mal wasn’t so addled as to believe that most folks would want anything more than the cheap detective novels, romances and horse operas that had always been available on the Cortex; after all, the foundations of life on the Rim were built on those old stories. Things like Max Cheever: Bounty Hunter, the Green Valley series and the books with busty women on the download link would probably be accessed more than Cantonese operas from Sihnon or the non-Fed news services, but Mal knew it was the small steps that counted. Choice mattered more now than ever.
The solo ended, the opera fading out to merge with the background hum of Serenity‘s engines. He lay on his bunk for a moment or two, trying to calculate what time it was. Sleep hadn’t come easy in the last few weeks; it was another reason he was grateful for the newly-vibrant Cortex. Night stretched long on the ship, shuddering and straining like an elastic band pulled taunt and about to break. It was as good a way as any to describe the atmosphere onboard Serenity since Miranda: silence so tight it ate at him, made him retreat every night to his bunk and listen to music so loud it vibrated the bulkheads. Didn’t much help, as a point of fact. No sound, no matter how thunderous, could ever drown out the new silences on the ship.
A soft, hesitant knock on the door to his cabin had Mal jerking upright, grunting a little in pain as his muscles pulled against new stitches. Another battle wound. Mal suspected his torso was beginning to very closely resemble a patchwork quilt, with all the old burns, scars and bullet wounds cross-stitching his skin. He shrugged at the pain and the marks on his body; he’d never had to rely overmuch on his good looks. A person could go far enough on sheer orneriness.
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