What's My Name?

 Do not delete, dammit. Who's running this gorram thing?

My favorite time of day is when I'm rich, beautiful and living is easy. When the plans come together like a French seam, and then go off like a firecracker. My favorite time of day is when I'm right and when people don't even notice until I'm already gone and cashing their checks.

My favorite time of day is when I'm in my own world, which is a world I've carefully constructed. My world is the shiniest: built well, solid but yields to my whims, exciting and laden down with plenty of skin and seduction. I like my world and the men and women who facilitate it. I like it when food is served to me by sweet-hearted gentlefolk, who won't mind a little constructive criticism once in a while, and who won't sass me back. I like showing up on someone's doorstep and fulfilling their wishes, and I love the gorramn paycheck.

So that's it, there: my favorite time of the day is when I get paid.

Muse: Saffron || Fandom: Firefly || Words: 170

Everyone in the 'Verse knows that blue is subjective, at least in these days. You stand with your feet in the dirt, your face turned up to the sky, your eyes rolled up toward wherever heaven ain't, and you know what color it is: blue. Then, you get in your shuttle, or your ship. Or your transport, your fighter, your cruiser, your airship. Whatever you got flying. You head up into that blue, looking for where it might be concentrated. Find the apex. Make it a project. You keep your eyes wide open, senses up, brain firin' ... waiting to see what's at the convergence of all that blue you saw when you were back planetside. Then, in just a couple of moments, you're disappointed to learn the truth.

It wasn't blue at all. It's all black, once you get out of atmo.

Wide and immense. Limitless, 'cept for the edges. Your universe just got a whole hell of a lot bigger, didn't it? What you thought was blue was a lie. A lovely one, sure enough at that. Blue, like deep waters that you don't know. Blue, like a sapphire, sold to the highest bidder. Blue, like hope. Hope is blue, all the poets said. But the sky sure ain't. The blue is the veneer. The sky, if you get up into it: it's black. Dark as pitch. Strong brewed coffee. The bitterest heart. A liar's word. Black as a spade.

When in your life did you feel the most alone?

Saffron. Yolanda. Mitsy. Bridget.

Saffron felt most alone when she got duped by the crew of Serenity. She was locked into a stinking, rutting GARBAGE container. That's alone, I'll tell you what. Not knowing when -- or if -- someone was going to pick her up. She might rightly die out there, on some desert shithole of a moon. Barely terrafirmed. Barely habitable. Mal was likely to get picked up, still naked as a jay-bird, as soon as his friends and crewmates knew to look for him. Hell, he probably didn't even get a sunburn on that precious little tush. But Saffron... she had to wait. Trust that someone was going to find that container. Open it up before incinerating it. And then, after all that, judge Saffron as being worthy of salvation. So, she sat and waited -- covered in rotting fruits, discarded tissues, and the rest of the rich detritus that Durren chucked into the trash chute. Nothing quite like being pìgu-deep in your ex-husband's trash, baking in a metal container, to really make a girl feel alone.

Yolanda's loneliest moment, coincidentally, was also connected to Durren Haymer. It wasn't while she and Mal were stealing the Lassiter, either. It was more innocuous than that. Just one night at dinner. Yolanda made him a big dinner. Roast pork, saffron potatos (haha), dressed kale, fruit compote. Durren ate it while reading some of the financials that had passed over his desk earlier. He didn't look up until Yolanda asked him if everything tasted all right. "Good enough, 'landa," he answered, distantly. And then back to the papers. Yolanda was trying. She was trying to cook. Trying to be a good wife. Trying to play her role. She fooled herself into thinking she was trying out the recipes for a dinner party that her husband wanted to throw in two weeks, but really: she was just trying to get him to notice a little. She realized she was going to have to try a little harder. Think of a new way to get his attention. And, sitting at that ruttin' table, taking small bites of kale... that's when she felt most alone.

Mitsy. Easily, this crosses over from when Saffron was waiting for the Feds to open up that trash container. They finally did and she burst right into tears. The friendly Lt. Montalban lifted her out and she slung her arms around his neck and sobbed. Crocodile tears, they weren't. She was scared, tired and exhausted. She'd had, however, plenty of time to plot her story and wait for her new mark. Lt. Feliz Montalban? Thanks for saving poor Mitsy Barrens from that horrible pickle.

Bridget, obviously, felt most alone when Monty's voice boomed out through the external speakers of his ship. He called her "devil woman" and that just wasn't nice. She'd been a good buddy to him. Not to mention a good lay. And then, at the first sign of duplicity, he took Malcolm Reynold's word over hers and blasted right the hell off. Leaving her with Mal. Leaving Mal with 'Saffron.' Didn't take long before Bridget/Saffron was sent packing into the dark, bag over her shoulder. And that's when Bridget felt most alone. Mal aimed to let her die out there. Except... he didn't. Too softhearted, that big baby-pōfù. Although, come to think of it: not that softhearted. He did stick her into a small, two-person transport container. What is it with Mal, you know? Always stuffing this girl into a box that never winds up holding her? That man has some control issues.

There are more names, too. And a different answer for each one. You'd probably like to know her real one, right? And the real answer. When did Miss X feel most alone?

None of your ruttin' business. That's when.

At what moment in your life have you felt most proud?

Getting kicked out of Companion Training seemed, at the time, a fate worse than death. Saffron, who was going by a different name altogether at the time, flailed around incessantly and cried on any shoulder she could get. As it's not exactly a cheap tutelage, it ain't easy to get the boot: people pay good money to teach their daughters and housegirls to be high-class whores.

Sorry: Companions.

Anyway, Saffron managed to do it. Get kicked out. They bounced her fifteen year old ass straight to the curb. All because she'd had an TINY, inconsequential, but ultimately indiscrete, interaction with the Assistant Dean and ... there were petitions. Threatened legal involvement. Full discrediting of the lovely and tender A.D. And someone on the board wanted to revoke the pledged donation they'd put in for 45% of the new boarding wing.

After the sting of being someone else's scapegoat passed, Saffron realized that she was now an icon. Hell, nearly a legend! She not only managed to pull herself up from some gorram muddy bootstraps, get a full tuition and board scholarship at the most prestigious Companion training facility in the 'Verse, AND offend nearly every one of those uptight heishŏudăng liúmáng on the Board of the Directors... but she managed to get herself expelled.

And for that, Saffron was prouder than a cock in a pen of hens.

Saffron has a dream that she goes to Helen of Troy's bachelorette party.

Which are you more afraid of: Being too gullible and believing things that aren't true, or being too skeptical and missing out on something important?
[Personal Journal]

You can't be too skeptical. This question begs a huge gorram "DUH." I'd rather miss out on a million "important" things than be a big old fool. I'm the one that preys on OTHER PEOPLE'S gullibility. Or, at least, their insecurity. And why? Because I am a skeptic and this makes me mighty. Or, at least, superior.

"Truth" is a fluid concept, anyway. Just ask Durran Haymer. He believed a lot of things that weren't true, just so as it would serve his pathetic purposes. Which, admittedly, weren't that pathetic. He was a money-grubbing sunovabitch, I'll tell you. How else could a man develop and run that kind of life? He had his own private floating island, even when I met up with him. And so, even though he pulled off Gullible Mark like a champ, he couldn't hide the fact that he was savvy. No one gets that rich or has that many treasures without being shrewd. And ruthless.

When I first married Durran, I was intent on pushing the thoughts of cheating him out of his fortune completely out of my head. Be the good wife. And I was! For a piece, anyway. Then, little opportunities kept popping up, with increasingly annoying, nagging frequency. And then Heinrich... more annoying, nagging frequency. All right, Heinrich was slightly less annoying than the business opportunities. Sometimes he was even downright charming.

But those openings! The holes in the security system. The price tags left on a few choice items. Inventory with selective and creative appraisals. The nature of some of his financial contacts. And especially, the marital dinner table -- rife with opportunities that Durran was too trusting to keep from me. That's what did it. His trust, his gullibility, sure. But his arrogance! The unspoken challenge to my abilities. Like I wasn't smart enough to shanghai him, like I wasn't resourceful enough to make my own way.

I guess I really showed him when I got his precious Lassiter, didn't I?

ISTJ - The Inspector You scored 45% I to E, 68% N to S, 66% F to T, and 31% J to P!

Your type is known as the inspector, and the single word that describes your is superdependable. You also belong to the larger group of guardians. You look carefully at the people and institutions around you and notice every last detail. You feel it is up to you to make sure those around you uphold certain standards of attitude and conduct. You are down to earth, with a distaste for fanciful things. You prefer things practical to new-fangled. Your word is your bond. You have no problem with detail. You share your type with 10% of the population. As a romantic partner, you are dependable and predictable. You usually like things done in very specific ways. You tend to appreciate tradition, and you work hard to achieve goals. You have trouble sharing your feelings, though. In your eagerness to be organized and productive, you can also be unwilling to examine or embrace alternative points of view. You like to be appreciated for your practical contributions, your common sense, and the efforts you make to keep your life on track. You like to be thanked often, both informally and formally and are most likely to be upset when your partner forgets a tradition you hold dear, such as an anniversary. Your group summary: Guardians (SJ) Your Type Summary: ISTJ

If she really puts her mind to it, Saffron figures her biggest flaw is being just too gorram restless. She wants it all, she wants it now and yes, băobèi, she wants it her way. Then, she wants it all again, but in a different order, the next morning. At one time, she might have called this kind of thinking "ambition," but she couldn't even fool herself, these-a days. If it was ambition, there would be an end to it. A goal. Some kind of shiny, expensive prize waiting for her in the distance. Saffron would hold this prize in her hands and think, "Good. I'm done now. I win."

A lot of prizes and sparkling baubles have passed through her hands, though. And she still doesn't feel "done." In fact, after every job, every new client, Saffron just feels hungrier. Itchier. More restless. That kind of restlessness gives way to hasty decisions which, in turn, give way to headaches that can last for days. That kind of restlessness will keep Saffron from ever feeling satisfied. Ever feeling right. Ever feeling done.