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- Dec 6, 2005
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Inara
This woman before you is built, with glassy blue eyes and blonde hair worn in a strange style. Her creamy coffee skin, glistens with sweat. She’s been on your tail all night. She’s backed you into a corner and there is no escape. A heavy metal bar is slung for her shoulders.
“It’s Inara, bitch, not honey cakes.” She says bringing the bar to bear and smashing you in the side of the face. The metal connects knocking your jaw out of place and loosening some teeth. Before falling unconscious from the pain, you see the bar being raised again for a second strike.
She isn’t a murderer, just a lady with a short temper. Get on her good side and give her something two handed and heavy she’ll follow you to the ends of the galaxy. Of course not before ditching you and going somewhere more interesting. Keep her interested, fed, and armed she’ll love you forever. Gun running, stealing, murdering, bitch slapping and keeping dogs of course are the favorite activities of Inara. Danger isn’t her middle name, it is her name. Of course she would beat you with a chair if you suggested her name was danger.
“Name?” Asked the man with the particularly ruddy face and stubbly mustache.
“Inara…” Said the lady in the tank top and shorts.
“Last name?” The man continued to look at the pad in front of him.
“I don’t have one.” Inara said rubbing the grease off her hands and on her pants.
The dock officer rolled his eyes, “Ok…well your Docking Number then.”
“AR692.” Inara repeated without missing a beat.
“It seems here you have an outstanding fee of 20,000 credits for crashing your ship into the dock then launching a full volley of torpedoes at the docking door causing massive damage.” The Officer said, “On other stations this would be punishable by law but as we don’t like to get mixed up with the law, you’ll have to pay the fee.”
“Ain’t my ship.” Inara said walking away lugging her bag toward the station trams, a rather large brown dog walking after her.
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