Criminal Mastermind
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Joined: 28-November 04
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My issue with the very first desc is that it makes Mal sound like he's moping, when I'd really prefer more of a bitter tone. Here's my attempt to convey that.
Original:
| QUOTE | No words are spoken as the last of your men file dejectedly onto the Alliance transport, disarmed and defeated. The war is over, and you lost. Your men...what's left of them. The battle ended days ago, but you've lost many more since then. To disease, and to despair. You miss the good old days, when you were just Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, freedom fighter. Or before that, on Shadow, when you were merely little Malcolm, happy-go-lucky boy in the care of your mother and the farm hands.
Everything is different. Death does that. Death you've caused....death you weren't able to prevent. Victory you were unable to secure. The battle for Serenity Valley might have been hopeless from the start. Or you might have made a mistake. There's no way of knowing. The officers didn't see fit to tell you the battle was doomed.....and since most of them are dead, there's no one left to ask.
Your fingers find the crucifix affixed to your neck, and you wonder again how this could have happened. How this was allowed to happen? There's nothing left, nothing solid....except the cross cupped in your hand. Not that it helped. Not that He helped at all. Almost casually, you yank at the useless icon; you feel the chain snap from around your neck, and watch as the last of your hopes fall to rest in the ashes of Serenity Valley.
Your Alliance guards eye you with what you suspect is a touch of superiority. Gorram bastards. He who wins the day always feels superior. What right did they have to waltz in and take over? None, of course. They weren't wanted. You showed them that well enough at Serenity. Of the thousands of bodies littering the valley floor, nearly half of them were the so-called "winners."
From a seat on the far side of the transport, your friend and second, Zoe, glances over at you. "We tried, sir."
"That we did," you respond quietly. Summoning a weak grin, you look over at her. "We did the impossible. Held the valley longer than we had any right to. Made them bleed for it." Strong words. Doesn't mean anything, but appearances must be maintained for the others. Even now.
"Gave 'em hell, sir," Zoe agrees.
An Alliance guard apparently heard some of the exchange, and steps over to bellow in your face, "SILENCE, Browncoat scum!" You consider making an issue of it, but decide that one humiliating defeat is enough for one day.
The transport rises slowly from the blood-bathed valley, whisking you off to parts unknown. |
Modified:
| QUOTE | No words are spoken as the last of your men file dejectedly onto the Alliance transport, disarmed and defeated. The war is over, and you lost. You watch the eyes of those tattered remnants of your company, and those fortunate enough to survive their own commanders' ends who came to you for leadership. Those you failed. There once was fire in those eyes, but the slow erosion of their numbers to wounds, disease, and despair in the long days since the Battle of Serenity Valley suddenly ended have robbed them of even that small dignity.
Everything is different. Your cause was a righteous one, but apparently that just was not enough. You've fought and you've killed, for an ideal....for freedom. And eventually for revenge after the ravaging of your home planet of Shadow. Death surrounds you like a cloak. You find you feel very little for the Alliance soldiers who've fallen before you, but each comrade lost has been a fresh wound which may never heal. And for what? The battle for Serenity Valley might have been hopeless from the start. Or you might have made a mistake. There's no way of knowing. The officers weren't keen on sharing strategic details with the lowly Sergent Malcolm Reynolds, and most of them are now among the dearly departed and in no state for questioning.
Your fingers find the crucifix affixed to your neck, and you wonder again how He could have let this happen. As you consider the small symbol of death and rebirth, you realize that you really don't like Him very much anymore. Almost casually, you yank at the useless icon; the chain snaps, and you watch as the last of your hopes fall to rest in the ashes of Serenity Valley.
One of the Alliance guards eyes you, his face radiating hostility. Gorram bastard. They waltzed in to take over where they weren't wanted, and took a pounding for the trouble. Of the thousands of bodies littering Serenity Valley, nearly half of them are the so-called "winners." But it wasn't enough....not nearly enough.
From a seat on the far side of the transport, your friend and second, Zoe, glances over at you. "We made a good accounting, sir." As usual, her thoughts and yours are in alignment.
"That we did," you agree quietly. "Did the impossible. Held the valley longer than we had any right to. Made them bleed for it." Strong words, but empty. You know you didn't do enough...but appearances must be maintained for the others. Even now.
"Gave 'em hell, sir," Zoe agrees.
The guard apparently heard something, because he steps over and favors you with a powerful backhand. "Silence, Browncoat scum." He turns to Zoe but hesitates, perhaps unwilling to strike a woman. She just regards him levelly. You consider making an issue of it, but decide that one humiliating defeat is enough for one day.
The transport rises slowly from the blood-bathed valley, whisking you off to parts unknown.
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