itsallovernow | Drabble challenges

The drabble challenges represent everything I love about Farscape and this writing community that keeps bowling me over and intimidating the hell out of me with their talent. Last week's challenge was an Unrealized Reality, and the results were perfect. Moments that could have been popped into any episode, any time line. What I love about the show is that it is all about moments. One twist, one blink, one right instead of a left, and smack, boom, you're on another path. Rarely does a deus ex machina appear that isn't rosily colored as legitimate plot. The UR drabbles are lovely ripples, the actual infinite possibilities of that universe.

Of course, I had to write another one. Aeryn POV. 415 words. What if the uniform didn't matter.

My World

The uniform may not have fit, but the attitude is snug and comfortable. The gun rests firmly on her hip and the pull of muscle in her arms feels so right. Crichton has set the DRD’s to give a demonstration of force, should it become necessary, and he is standing point, looking a little nervous and overwhelmed by the pulse cannon. But he holds on tight, angling his neck a little to relieve some of the pain in his jaw. She didn’t think she’d ever have to hit him again after the Tavloids, but this was an emergency. The Luxan is in chains, the Hynerian throneless, and the Delvian chanting mournfully in her cell. Aeryn blinks, clearing away the distance and thinks to herself - names, they all have names. They are your comrades.

The marauder team enters the bay. “Awfully big ship for one little girl, Captain Sun.” She tilts her head, the DRD’s fire, Crichton stands his ground, and the illusion holds. She feels the power vibrate through her and can’t keep the smile off of her face.

Larraq’s mouth on her neck is cool, his hand on her waist tight and bruising. He has none of Crichton’s heat, but a touch of the gentleness. Her world, her rules; cool and smooth, and rough sex against the wall of her chamber. She catches the eye of the thieving little Nebari tralk through the grill, and something clicks into place. She pushes Larraq away regretfully. He smiles in understanding. Duty first, and they go off to hunt.

Crichton is hanging around the cold blonde lieutenant. She’s some sort of medical worker and her lips tighten into whiteness at the news that someone has touched the container. With a signal from Larraq, she explains the situation. Intellent virus. Death, corruption, and Aeryn will not be taking her ship to a frelling gammack base.

Crichton is close behind her. She can sense him, hear his breathing, feel his heat, equal to hers in this Sebacean body. She turns rapidly, forcing her forearm under his neck, slamming him into the wall, but he must have been paying attention during those sparring lessons because he lashes out, kicking and hitting. She falls and he drops to his knees over her, his body snapping back as the virus passes into him.

Rygel comms Zhaan, who comes running, but it’s too late. Crichton and Larraq in the maintenance bay, starring down the barrels of their respective guns. “Mexican stand off,” says Chrichton, and winces as she fires, Larraq’s blood spattering him. The body drops to the ground.

They fix the cesium leak, sending the remaining two commandoes into space. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” says Crichton and she barely bothers to raise an eyebrow at him.