river_meimei | (no subject)

(no subject)

When River steps into Serenity's kitchen from Milliways, she's carrying a small bag of tangerines, and a note.

"It's a mail drop," she announces, to the general area of the sink.

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"It's indirect."

Beat.

With the kind of audible patience that marks the beginnings of frustration, "Bar."

River thinks she was being perfectly clear.

Yeah, this is why talking to River is never a picnic.

Jayne's brows knit.

"There a reason you was pickin' up my mail?"

River looks irritated.

"It volunteers."

"You read it?"

Mail can't volunteer. It's a piece of paper. Obviously, however, it is no use pointing this out to River.

River looks a little more irritated. In the duh, Jayne way.

"Got your name."

"The inside."

Dumb-ass: implied.

River addressed that already! Or so says her face.

But she's used to Jayne's sad inability to understand perfectly straightforward explanations, by now.

"Yours."

Jayne grunts in acknowledgment of this, and folds the paper back up, stuffing it securely in a pocket.

Sure as ruttin' hell it's his.

(And even he's not sure what Lilly's going on about, with the money skirt. Some parts of a dream you forget faster than others.)

This is where a normal person would say thank you.

Jayne says: "You waitin' for a tip?"

River rolls her eyes and flicks a piece of tangerine rind at his forehead.

Jayne flicks a fingernail paring back at her.

Tip goes from the served to the server, after all.

EW, says River's face, as she dodges.

"I'll eat your share," she warns him, and turns away.

See if she brings back enough tangerines for everybody next time, Jayne.

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