catko

Rated: PG
Category: Firefly—Gen. Saffron
Words: 160
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.
Summary: For prompt ‘trash’ #210 on

ff_friday. Set during--what else--“Trash.”

Funny what you learn about a man when you look at his...I guess he still writes letters, on actual paper. He always did fancy himself a throwback, to a more—what'd he used to say?— “elegant” time. Frankly, I always thought he was kinda pedestrian. And hey, here’s the proof. Ugh, that’s tacky. What’s the term: poseur? I’ve posed as a lot of things in my time, but I never tried to fool myself.

Obviously eats well, I remember that. Fancy sit-downs--God, some of those meals, I thought they’d drag on forever. Plenty of wine, or the hard stuff, that helped. Yeah, there were nice things about that life. But I just couldn’t hack it. Sometimes I wonder why. Hey, screw him. At least I’m free, not stuck in some fancy-ass straitjacket. Yes, dear, no dear. What a crock.

Yeah, things'll be working out fine for me, as soon as I find that gorram—gaah, this is disgusting!—gun.