Ficlety stuff....
Aug. 20th, 2004 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elliejaneThis is Agent Rouka's fault.
I was all set to write Evil!JOhn and she goes and sets my mind whirring on something else.(Of course this could be an avoidance tactic on my part, but I don't think so, because I've been writing quite a bit this week).
But anyway - she wrote a list of things she'd like to see on Farscape and one was John and Aeryn's child, grown up and totally non heroic or anything, no wild past, just being ordinary. (well, that was kinda what she said - she said more but heck I didn't cut and paste!)
So here is a ficlet, where nothing much happens... hehe. Not sure if it has much merit but oh well. Hey it's not long, read it anyway ;) Not betaed or anything, wrote it quick, so sorries in advance for any typos or inconsistancies.
I think I'm stealing the title from somewhere, don't ask me where, haven't a clue.
Nothing Important Happened Today
It's a quiet day in the bar – the patrons are saturated with heat and booze, all too loose limbed and lethargic to be any bother. The door is wide open, letting in stray wisps of hot air, along with grating dusty sounds of the rockets and shuttles heaving for orbit and higher. On a hot day, the bars on the strip around the 'port are sweltering and the proprietor kicks the air cooler with a resounding thud, shuddering it back into hiccupping life.
Whilst the drinkers loll and swallow, the bar girl scurries from table to table, the only sign of energy and life, as if she could inject them all with some verve by sheer example. As it is, she delivers more raslak to the couple curled into the cubby at the back, more trisbisk juices to a perspiring junker and yet more fellip nectar, in cool frosty long necks, to the haulers at the bar. They prop up their square jaws with massive fists but look unlikely to move enough to smudge the dusty bar top, let alone beat on anyone's ass today.
There is not much fun to be had here, but then again, fun is not what it sought here. A respite perhaps, not from the heat, but from the toils of the journey, from the toils of the construction work that causes the dust that is always present, never ending it seems. The workers and travellers alike ducking onto the refuge for some rest, some liquor or juices at the end of a long day, or an illicit draft of nectar during a shift break.
Zeal looks on from his stool by the cooler unit, resting a big arm on the slightly cool surface, ready to whack it again if it shows signs of faltering. The bar girl flits past with a quick flicking grin, and he smiles, knows she's the best help he's had in ages.
He can't remember how old she is, never stopped to work it out, but ages are all out of whack here anyway, appearances mean nothing. But it doesn't matter to him, with his short greying hair, because it's all he's ever known. He's never met a Delvian but he knows that they live for cycles and cycles; he knows Sebaceans don't last as long, but long enough. And he's given up trying to figure out when his number will be up, what with his screwed up genealogy, an' all.
The cooler judders slightly under his arm and he kicks at it again for good measure. He's tinkered it up more times than he could count, but some days, 'specially the hot ones when some folks just can't take the heat, all it really wants is some attention.
Zeal levers himself up and wanders over to the doorway, feels a slightest breeze greet him and smiles at the slow end of the day. His belly rumbles a little, as he leans, feet shifting, flooring gritty beneath his boots. He only serves snack-junk at the bar, no chef, just pre-packaged edibles and really they don't fill him up. Trini, one sister up, with black hair and a husband who drives huge transports, has invited him for dinner. There'll be some kind of stew and those odd biscuits his Dad could never make properly but which he'd kept on trying.
Trini loves the stories of the war and never stops telling tall tales to her children. At least that's what she calls them. Tall tales. Zeal knows the stories are on the tamer side of true, that extraordinary things happened, with extraordinary people, with pulse rifles and command carriers, with other things as well. Trini will not tell of some of those things, not yet, because some knowledge is dangerous even now, even when that knowledge died with its owner.
Zeal sighs a little but the sadness is not because of that loss. He sighs, just a little, for the loss of a life he never knew, one told in stories and even occasionally in legends on the loose lips of sodden haulers as they entertain themselves late into the night. Where deeds become magnified, but still not as large as real life. Lives led before his birth, before the back water planets kept him and his siblings safe.
Where he manhandles drunken construction workers out to squint in the double sun, as they claim the Crichton did this and that and Sun did something else.
Doesn't happen often in these later years, and it's just as well. There may still be warrants out for Crichton and offspring but he doesn't travel far, so doesn't keep up. But Trini's husband heard tell of a wanted beacon on a planet several systems over, the other day. He'd laughed and said it was probably out of date. Says it may even have been Crais. He hopes so. One day Trini with tell the kids the truth, even though he wonders if it's wise. But she says it's their heritage.
And of course, she's right. Even if the universe remembers the exploits of his parents all upside down and sideways, and would still cock it's ears to listen if it heard certain words. It's right that family should know, should have it straight, and hand it down through generations.
Someone thumps Zeal on the shoulder, and he staggers to the side, only just catching the doorpost with his hand. He hears a light laugh, and turns to spot the bar girl with a tray of drinks and a wink, flashing a side of grey thigh under the noses of drinkers who are too sozzled to care. Thinks maybe he'll think 'bout shutting up shop soon, before the suns set. He hadn't even tried to resist her; indeed her mother had egged him on. Said this planet was up and coming and need all the new life it could get, even ones with a mish mash of Sebacean, Human and Nebari genes.
Which was fine by him. Opposites attract they say, and when he looked back at his parents, he figured that held true. His dad had been Joe average to hear him talk, and his Mom? Well, a streak of fire, and a bolt out of the heavens all at once. While he'd been a quiet kid, happy to sit on a stool, and watch life go by with wide grey eyes. His Dad had laughed and fluffed his hair. Had said how he didn't match his name, at all. So maybe he and Nery will have those kids, with light grey skins and black hair maybe, if the diagnocian says their DNA is ok to splice and dice.
He heads back for the bar, tripping over an outstretched boot, and makes a note to haul this one out onto the side walk when he kicks the other few drinkers out. Time for him and Nery to get home to his sis, her mate, Aunt Chi and the kids.
His parents had what his father called a passel of kids. They'd had a yen for names that reminded his dad of home. From what they'd told him, his mother hadn't had a home as such, or much family that she could risk naming them after.
Dad had had a look of glee in his eyes when he's told them it was his way of thumbing his nose at those who had chased him and their mother half way round the universe and back. His eldest sister was Amery. The twins were Talia and Austan. And Trini. All named for places his Dad had been. And he was Zeal.
And you can look all you want at a chart of the galaxy and still not find them.
fin
I was all set to write Evil!JOhn and she goes and sets my mind whirring on something else.(Of course this could be an avoidance tactic on my part, but I don't think so, because I've been writing quite a bit this week).
But anyway - she wrote a list of things she'd like to see on Farscape and one was John and Aeryn's child, grown up and totally non heroic or anything, no wild past, just being ordinary. (well, that was kinda what she said - she said more but heck I didn't cut and paste!)
So here is a ficlet, where nothing much happens... hehe. Not sure if it has much merit but oh well. Hey it's not long, read it anyway ;) Not betaed or anything, wrote it quick, so sorries in advance for any typos or inconsistancies.
I think I'm stealing the title from somewhere, don't ask me where, haven't a clue.
Nothing Important Happened Today
It's a quiet day in the bar – the patrons are saturated with heat and booze, all too loose limbed and lethargic to be any bother. The door is wide open, letting in stray wisps of hot air, along with grating dusty sounds of the rockets and shuttles heaving for orbit and higher. On a hot day, the bars on the strip around the 'port are sweltering and the proprietor kicks the air cooler with a resounding thud, shuddering it back into hiccupping life.
Whilst the drinkers loll and swallow, the bar girl scurries from table to table, the only sign of energy and life, as if she could inject them all with some verve by sheer example. As it is, she delivers more raslak to the couple curled into the cubby at the back, more trisbisk juices to a perspiring junker and yet more fellip nectar, in cool frosty long necks, to the haulers at the bar. They prop up their square jaws with massive fists but look unlikely to move enough to smudge the dusty bar top, let alone beat on anyone's ass today.
There is not much fun to be had here, but then again, fun is not what it sought here. A respite perhaps, not from the heat, but from the toils of the journey, from the toils of the construction work that causes the dust that is always present, never ending it seems. The workers and travellers alike ducking onto the refuge for some rest, some liquor or juices at the end of a long day, or an illicit draft of nectar during a shift break.
Zeal looks on from his stool by the cooler unit, resting a big arm on the slightly cool surface, ready to whack it again if it shows signs of faltering. The bar girl flits past with a quick flicking grin, and he smiles, knows she's the best help he's had in ages.
He can't remember how old she is, never stopped to work it out, but ages are all out of whack here anyway, appearances mean nothing. But it doesn't matter to him, with his short greying hair, because it's all he's ever known. He's never met a Delvian but he knows that they live for cycles and cycles; he knows Sebaceans don't last as long, but long enough. And he's given up trying to figure out when his number will be up, what with his screwed up genealogy, an' all.
The cooler judders slightly under his arm and he kicks at it again for good measure. He's tinkered it up more times than he could count, but some days, 'specially the hot ones when some folks just can't take the heat, all it really wants is some attention.
Zeal levers himself up and wanders over to the doorway, feels a slightest breeze greet him and smiles at the slow end of the day. His belly rumbles a little, as he leans, feet shifting, flooring gritty beneath his boots. He only serves snack-junk at the bar, no chef, just pre-packaged edibles and really they don't fill him up. Trini, one sister up, with black hair and a husband who drives huge transports, has invited him for dinner. There'll be some kind of stew and those odd biscuits his Dad could never make properly but which he'd kept on trying.
Trini loves the stories of the war and never stops telling tall tales to her children. At least that's what she calls them. Tall tales. Zeal knows the stories are on the tamer side of true, that extraordinary things happened, with extraordinary people, with pulse rifles and command carriers, with other things as well. Trini will not tell of some of those things, not yet, because some knowledge is dangerous even now, even when that knowledge died with its owner.
Zeal sighs a little but the sadness is not because of that loss. He sighs, just a little, for the loss of a life he never knew, one told in stories and even occasionally in legends on the loose lips of sodden haulers as they entertain themselves late into the night. Where deeds become magnified, but still not as large as real life. Lives led before his birth, before the back water planets kept him and his siblings safe.
Where he manhandles drunken construction workers out to squint in the double sun, as they claim the Crichton did this and that and Sun did something else.
Doesn't happen often in these later years, and it's just as well. There may still be warrants out for Crichton and offspring but he doesn't travel far, so doesn't keep up. But Trini's husband heard tell of a wanted beacon on a planet several systems over, the other day. He'd laughed and said it was probably out of date. Says it may even have been Crais. He hopes so. One day Trini with tell the kids the truth, even though he wonders if it's wise. But she says it's their heritage.
And of course, she's right. Even if the universe remembers the exploits of his parents all upside down and sideways, and would still cock it's ears to listen if it heard certain words. It's right that family should know, should have it straight, and hand it down through generations.
Someone thumps Zeal on the shoulder, and he staggers to the side, only just catching the doorpost with his hand. He hears a light laugh, and turns to spot the bar girl with a tray of drinks and a wink, flashing a side of grey thigh under the noses of drinkers who are too sozzled to care. Thinks maybe he'll think 'bout shutting up shop soon, before the suns set. He hadn't even tried to resist her; indeed her mother had egged him on. Said this planet was up and coming and need all the new life it could get, even ones with a mish mash of Sebacean, Human and Nebari genes.
Which was fine by him. Opposites attract they say, and when he looked back at his parents, he figured that held true. His dad had been Joe average to hear him talk, and his Mom? Well, a streak of fire, and a bolt out of the heavens all at once. While he'd been a quiet kid, happy to sit on a stool, and watch life go by with wide grey eyes. His Dad had laughed and fluffed his hair. Had said how he didn't match his name, at all. So maybe he and Nery will have those kids, with light grey skins and black hair maybe, if the diagnocian says their DNA is ok to splice and dice.
He heads back for the bar, tripping over an outstretched boot, and makes a note to haul this one out onto the side walk when he kicks the other few drinkers out. Time for him and Nery to get home to his sis, her mate, Aunt Chi and the kids.
His parents had what his father called a passel of kids. They'd had a yen for names that reminded his dad of home. From what they'd told him, his mother hadn't had a home as such, or much family that she could risk naming them after.
Dad had had a look of glee in his eyes when he's told them it was his way of thumbing his nose at those who had chased him and their mother half way round the universe and back. His eldest sister was Amery. The twins were Talia and Austan. And Trini. All named for places his Dad had been. And he was Zeal.
And you can look all you want at a chart of the galaxy and still not find them.
fin
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no subject
Date: 2004-08-20 04:33 pm (UTC)I really like the idea of the family's secret story, the tale passed from generation to generation. And that he's thinking of maybe having his own kids someday, too.
So good.
no subject
Date: 2004-08-20 05:43 pm (UTC)Thank you, thank you, thank you!!
Date: 2004-08-20 11:06 pm (UTC)You did everything I imagined and more, it's absolutely perfect! An ordinary guy, with extraordinary parents. That last line absolutely did me in, so beautiful and subtle. Had me falling right in love with Zeal as a person and John and Aeryn as parents.
Really, I'm quite speechless that my little list inspired you!
And I can't believe I accidentally sabotaged Evil!John. But it was all for the greater good, this piece is worth a longer wait. Definitely!
no subject
Date: 2004-08-21 12:42 am (UTC)But once I started I just didn't want to stop, when I got the image of a guy sitting somewhere in a bar.
And AGent Rouka, that'll teach ya to make lists! lol But I'm writing E!J almost everyday now since I've been back off my holiday - be a bit of a break tonight as I'm away, but I might even get the darn thing done before the years out hehehe ;)
no subject
Date: 2004-08-21 07:30 am (UTC)Sweeter words have never been spoken. *g*
no subject
Date: 2004-08-22 06:29 am (UTC)And yay more Evil John!