grrr. stupid fic bunnies.
Feb. 14th, 2003 11:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holliI've got River from Firefly bouncing around demanding to be written and frankly she's a little scary so I don't dare refuse her. Not sure where I want this to go-- so far it's all character stuff, but it lacks focus. Comments very, very welcome. Also, title suggestions, as titles are NOT my strong point. Firefly spoilers through "Objects in Space," though very mildly.
--Spoiler Space (no one can say I'm not considerate)--
River knows full well how the others see her. Crazy girl, lost in the buzzing, glittering tangle of her thoughts and never quite present in reality. Even Simon, who should know her best of all, only thinks she's half-lucid half the time. But River understand more than they think she does.
It's not her comprehension that's the problem-- River knows exactly where she is, has no trouble telling future from past and present; she's perfectly capable of living in all three. Not that she has a choice, thanks to the gorram Fed doctors (River learned to swear from Mal and Jayne and Zoe; Simon frowned the first few times he heard it, but she takes such delight in the words Mama and Daddy never allowed her to say. How could he refuse her that?) and their half-completed projects. River knows she is a half-completed project.
That's the problem, of course. River knows what the Alliance wanted-- a perfect soldier-spy, someone who could predict an enemy's every move ten minutes ahead and pluck an emeny's secrets from thin air and never, ever miss a shot. They'd done half the work when Simon rescued her. River can pick the most likely of an infinity of possibilities, and she knows things that no one on Serenity has ever told a living soul. Inside her head, everything makes sense. It's getting things out that's the problem. River's lines of communiction have been cut.
When River wants to tell Simon something, be it "I'm hungry" or "That combination of meds won't work; try upping the Deramil to 50 milligrams," she must resort to metaphor and unrelated facts. When she's angry, River has to flail and hum nonsense songs to herself, or maybe just go at Jayne with a kitchen knife (that one was personal, though-- nobody hurts Simon without River doing her rutting best to hurt them, even if they haven't done it yet).
She sees the gun as a branch, the cargo bay as a garden-- but they are, if you look the right way, and River knows every way to look. Plus, she misses the gardens back home. There were lilacs, and real wisteria, and rare orchids in the climate-controlled greenhouses. River misses the sun. She remembers trips to the beach with Mama and Daddy and Simon, when they'd all sit under their unbrellas and slather on the SPF. "Tams don't tan," Simon would say wryly, and River would laugh and laugh at the sunburns he came home with. She tried to tell Simon that, a few days ago, but all she could get out was something about the rotational period of the sun of Earth-that-was and a singsong "Tan Tam, Tams tan..." Simon peered at her, all concerned and big-brotherly, and asked if everything was okay. She managed to say "yes" to that, at least.
River gets frustrated at the way her thoughts don't make it to her mouth, the way she's forced to bounce off the walls of her own head. She wants to talk to someone the way she can talk to herself: intelligent, rational, sane. When she can't manage it, sometimes River explodes.
Since she left the Academy, River has only managed to pull herself together once, for a few glorious hours. It took a threat to the whole crew, and a man whose thoughts rivaled her own for buzz and sparkle. Early had a dollop of homicidal rage that River lacked, and so she had no choice but to make herself heard. She likes to think she did a good job. Mal looks at her with a respect she didn't see before, although of course she always saw it coming.
--Spoiler Space (no one can say I'm not considerate)--
River knows full well how the others see her. Crazy girl, lost in the buzzing, glittering tangle of her thoughts and never quite present in reality. Even Simon, who should know her best of all, only thinks she's half-lucid half the time. But River understand more than they think she does.
It's not her comprehension that's the problem-- River knows exactly where she is, has no trouble telling future from past and present; she's perfectly capable of living in all three. Not that she has a choice, thanks to the gorram Fed doctors (River learned to swear from Mal and Jayne and Zoe; Simon frowned the first few times he heard it, but she takes such delight in the words Mama and Daddy never allowed her to say. How could he refuse her that?) and their half-completed projects. River knows she is a half-completed project.
That's the problem, of course. River knows what the Alliance wanted-- a perfect soldier-spy, someone who could predict an enemy's every move ten minutes ahead and pluck an emeny's secrets from thin air and never, ever miss a shot. They'd done half the work when Simon rescued her. River can pick the most likely of an infinity of possibilities, and she knows things that no one on Serenity has ever told a living soul. Inside her head, everything makes sense. It's getting things out that's the problem. River's lines of communiction have been cut.
When River wants to tell Simon something, be it "I'm hungry" or "That combination of meds won't work; try upping the Deramil to 50 milligrams," she must resort to metaphor and unrelated facts. When she's angry, River has to flail and hum nonsense songs to herself, or maybe just go at Jayne with a kitchen knife (that one was personal, though-- nobody hurts Simon without River doing her rutting best to hurt them, even if they haven't done it yet).
She sees the gun as a branch, the cargo bay as a garden-- but they are, if you look the right way, and River knows every way to look. Plus, she misses the gardens back home. There were lilacs, and real wisteria, and rare orchids in the climate-controlled greenhouses. River misses the sun. She remembers trips to the beach with Mama and Daddy and Simon, when they'd all sit under their unbrellas and slather on the SPF. "Tams don't tan," Simon would say wryly, and River would laugh and laugh at the sunburns he came home with. She tried to tell Simon that, a few days ago, but all she could get out was something about the rotational period of the sun of Earth-that-was and a singsong "Tan Tam, Tams tan..." Simon peered at her, all concerned and big-brotherly, and asked if everything was okay. She managed to say "yes" to that, at least.
River gets frustrated at the way her thoughts don't make it to her mouth, the way she's forced to bounce off the walls of her own head. She wants to talk to someone the way she can talk to herself: intelligent, rational, sane. When she can't manage it, sometimes River explodes.
Since she left the Academy, River has only managed to pull herself together once, for a few glorious hours. It took a threat to the whole crew, and a man whose thoughts rivaled her own for buzz and sparkle. Early had a dollop of homicidal rage that River lacked, and so she had no choice but to make herself heard. She likes to think she did a good job. Mal looks at her with a respect she didn't see before, although of course she always saw it coming.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-02-14 10:50 pm (UTC)Title ideas? "Lucid" comes to mind. Maybe "The Definition of Lucid." "Mutable Lucidity." I don't know. That's the word that stuck out the most.
no subject
Date: 2003-02-16 05:07 pm (UTC)oh, and thanks very much!
no subject
Date: 2003-02-16 06:04 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-02-16 07:02 pm (UTC)icons
Date: 2003-02-17 09:23 am (UTC)