Inara has a shoe hanging over her bed and it's a curiosity and a wonder to Mal.

There are other distractions in the shuttle, enough to put a buzz in a man's head and a hum in his pants if he's careless. Things move, in there. He'd swear, the candle flames give just that little lick of light to the happy couples carved in wood and stone, put here and about, to make them wriggle in their acts. You could get lost, following the gleam from gilded ankles to knees to thighs to saucy junctures slick and winking. There was one little bronze...

But it didn't do to look too much, too long, in there, nor to spend much time speculating on the contents of all those boxes and drawers. Long, flat boxes covered in brocade, or leather with brass bound corners and locks. Potion pots, carved from scented wood, closed with thread and seals. Big wicker basket tied with rope.

That shoe, though, that shoe was odd. Kinda small. Inara had small feet. He walked in on her once, putting rouge on her heels. She had silk stockings, thick ones and sheer, shiny see-throughs. He liked the thick ones. He'd seen her in white, in yellow, and in one pair of cherry pink with a blossom on the swell of her calf.

That shoe was silk and velvet. It was a dark red on the outside embroidered with gold and bits of blue. The inside was the color of a white peach, split to the flesh.

What could you do with one shoe? Did she wear it? Did someone else? Was it there for the man in her bed to see; or did she reach up, at some point, over her head, reach up and pull

"Mal!"

And there you were, caught chasing fluff. "So. That's the schedule: Early to rise, early to bed, early out to beat the feds. Get your whorin' done on schedule, ne?"

"Get out."

Pretty as a mad little hen.

Early to rise meant short sleep tonight. Inara sent a silent cuss after Mal's back and unfastened her robe. She climbed naked into bed. She leaned back against the pillows. She reached over her head and pulled the shoe from its hook. With two long fingers, she reached into the toe and pulled out a little drawstring pouch. It took just a pinch to fill the pipe, enough for a few puffs before bedtime. It wasn't Turkish, but it was always the best she could get.