trans_9 | Doin' a little magic [open]

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Doin' a little magic [open]

Kaylee is in the Sensorium, doing her favourite thing in the world: working on Serenity's engine. The whole place has turned into the interior of her ship (without any of the "crew" - that would be too weird), and she's tucked away in the engine room, fixing things that need fixing.

It's not the same, because she doesn't sound quite right, but Kaylee doesn't mind too much. It's enough to keep her from dying of homesickness.

If anyone would care to wander in, just follow the banging sounds up the stairs and through the mess back to the engine room. She won't mind company.

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She ain't never...

She hasn't never...

She's heard no one...

Well, he hadn't thought she was nobility before - no noble lady would ever be allowed to work like this, after all - but that about seals it. "London, Miss Kaylee, in England, under the reign of King Edward III. Though I must admit, not all of us talk this way. It comes from serving the nobility and, of course, from being a writer. But rest assured, I meant every word of it."

"Ooo, you're a writer?" Kaylee gets all starry-eyed. "I ain't ever met a writer. Most of 'em live on the central planets, I guess - lots more posh and proper there, border planets got too much work need doin' to sit and spin tales all day. I got some real nice stories off the cortex, though."

Romance novels, or what passes for them in her time. You've gotta love a girl who's easy to pin down, in terms of taste.

"I suppose, yes, that that is similar to where I live. London is the heart of England, after all; where I grew up, where my family and patrons are. But I must go and see the people I'm writing about, live their lives to the best of my ability, get to know them. Write in their language, and for them. Or else how can my characters be real?"

Chaucer is a sucker for a fan. Even if they're not his fan yet. Especially if they're common-born. And he gets the feeling that this girl here is almost precisely his target audience.

He'll ask Dean what a cortex is later.

"You write about... normal folk?"

Okay, basically, Geoff, you've just endeared yourself to Kaylee forever. "I think I love you," she says solemnly. "Just so y'know."

"Yes, and in our own language, instead of ones that only the rich and powerful can understand."

He practically beams. No, scratch that, his face is threatening to split in two. The feeling, it seems fair to say, is entirely mutual. "Thank you. That is, I believe, one of the greatest compliments I have ever received."

Kaylee laughs and mimes a curtsey. "Xièxie nĭ, good sir," she says, with more than a hint of giggle in her voice. "I don't know about it bein' great, though. I like most folk. Just friendly that way."

She pauses. "'Course, most folk I know ain't like you. You could live all posh in the city and you ain't, and that's somethin'."

And there's more words that Geoff can't understand. He tries not to stare too blankly at her, covering the confusion that's getting a little too familiar with his smile.

"I go where I am sent," he explains, "for the most part. And then I go where my feet take me. There are some who would say that I stray from home too often."

Kaylee does catch the blankness, though, if only for a moment, and she flushes red. "Sorry, I should try to speak English here, huh? Ain't everybody as speaks Chinese, I wager. Not with all the different worlds'n stuff."

Kaylee does, however, understand the wandering. She smiles a little. "Guess that's a little like me. Didn't wanna stay in one place, and got myself a nice bunk here, goin' to all sorts of worlds and meetin' all sorts of folk." She wouldn't trade her life for anything.

Not even strawberries.

"My English is apparently dated," Chaucer is forced to admit sheepishly. "I wasn't entirely certain that you were speaking another language."

He nods along with what Kaylee says, understanding, to an extent, what she's talking about. "Then you are very lucky, for your heart and feet to take you the same places. As much as I love wandering, a part of my heart will always dwell in England, with my family. I just can't seem to stop leaving."

He's a little surprised, how much she's got him talking about himself.

Ooo, this is chat time for sure. Kaylee moves to hop into her hammock, tossing the pillow to Chaucer so he can sit on it. Hopefully he'll, ah, get that. Considering she doesn't bother to say why she's tossing it.

"You got a family?" she asks curiously. "What're they like?"

Some things never change. Geoff catches the pillow easily, well-used to having things chucked at him by tent-mates, and sits on it. At this point, after months of traveling, he's just as accustomed to sitting on crates or cushions as he is on chairs.

Talking about his family takes a little longer. He hesitates, thinking, because for the most part Chaucer doesn't speak of himself or them. He'd rather tell other peoples' stories. But he did bring them up, fair enough, and it wasn't as if they were some horrible secret. Quite the opposite.

"My wife, Philippa, she is..." He looks down, blinking, at his hands. "Forgive me. The words well up, but my throat closes around them. She is my everything, my very breath. I miss her - and our children - more now, with such unimaginable distance and time between us, than I ever have before."

Kaylee's expression sobers, and she looks down at her hands. "Duìbùqĭ. Sorry. I shouldn't've asked about that." Truth is, she's homesick something fierce - not for the place, but the people, her crew, her family, and that's not something she can fix with a nice afternoon in the Sensorium.

"There's gotta be a way back though," she offers. "I mean, if we got here, there's gotta be a way to do it backwards. I'll betcha we get it all sorted out real soon." Her voice isn't very convincing, but it's obvious she wants it to be true, wants it desperately.

He looks up at her and nods. "Truly, I do not mind. I'm afraid my time spent as a herald has made me over-dramatic. We will find a way back, and until then I have enough friends that I am sure my family will be taken care of."

He smiles, a little sadly, and says, "In truth, I think it is worse that I was finally home after six months when I was taken; I expected to be awoken to three raucous children, a wickedly amused wife, and a hangover; not to ooze and strange, foreign things."

"It helps to write to her, to try to find words for," he looks around, gestures, "all of this. Can you imagine what you will say? I cannot."

Kaylee likes his words. They're elegant and beautiful without ringing too much of "upper class". And she takes his last question very seriously, pursing her lips.

"There's... ships, what fly between the stars," she says slowly. "An' some of 'em are bigger'n anything, boxy and ugly and cruel. An' some of 'em are small and sleek and graceful. Lots are old, an' most folk'd say they're junk, but love of 'em, love of the sky, it holds 'em together, keeps 'em flyin', and they fly true right enough."

She can be poetical when she gets a mind. And while it might not describe the actual sight, her description probably captures it better than "There were large metal things that flew, with people in them."

Geoff can feel himself being carried away by her words, and smiles.

"You know, I may just steal that. You almost make all this sound... ideal."

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Doin' a little magic [open]

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