StarsGoBlue
02-04-2004, 08:02 PM
Rating: PG-13 for language, references to nudity
Setting/Spoilers: Season 1, before ABL
Beta: unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Just took them out to play---for fun, not profit---and then put them right back in Henson's toybox.
Author's Notes: For the Farscape Friday 'cabin fever' challenge.
Stupid Human Tricks
by StarsGoBlue
How the hell did I end up in this mess?
Crichton slid an uneasy glance around. Zhaan sat at his left elbow, D’Argo to his right. Aeryn was directly opposite him, glaring daggers. If looks could kill, the silver ice of her eyes would’ve flayed him on the spot.
As usual, they blamed him---held him responsible for his stupid Human tricks, for his ideas.
No one had forced them to go along with it, he thought defensively, hunching his shoulders a bit against Moya’s cool ambient temperature, rubbing the gooseflesh of his arm with one hand as he contemplated his next move. If he blew it, he was dead meat.
A mostly-naked Aeryn in front of him was one hell of a distraction, though, even if she was pissed off. His attention---and eyes---kept wandering over to the bare expanse of her midriff (it had been something of a shock to realize she had no belly-button)… long, elegant legs… tiny toes that cried out for shell-pink polish…
A warning rumble from D’Argo hastily refocused his concentration where it belonged.
Considering the tiny etched chips in his hand, he tossed one aside and took another from the face-down pile.
“What have you got?” Rygel asked solicitously. His High Stinkiness hovered just out of reach of D’Argo’s long arm.
“I haven’t even looked at it yet, gimme a minute.”
“Microt,” Aeryn corrected through gritted teeth.
“Whatever.” He scowled, rubbed at his lip. Buckwheat had to be bluffing; but damn, the little toad had a serious poker face.
It was supposed to be fun---it was just a game, for crying out loud. They’d all been on edge and grouchy, sneaking around hiding from Crais’ command carrier, nothing to do but maintenance, sleep, eat, more maintenance… It made no sense, but on board this enormous living ship, this amazing Leviathan, they were bored out of their skulls and driving each other nuts.
So he’d had an idea. It had been relatively easy to convince one of the DRDs to mark the cache of blank ident chips they’d found in a storage compartment. They’d intended to use food cubes for betting, but Rygel’s inclusion nipped that idea in the bud.
Crichton had suggested the strip-variety of poker as a joke. Now, it appeared the joke was on him.
Aeryn was down to her tight black half-shirt (don’t look, get your head in the game, John boy) and the Calvins she’d swiped and had yet to return. Zhaan was already buck naked---she’d only been wearing her shift and caftan.
And God help him, all D’Argo had left was a loincloth.
Crichton shifted uncomfortably. He only had one sock and his IASA-issue boxers, himself.
Zhaan frowned at him, impatience seeping through her usual serenity. Crichton knew the nudity didn’t bother her---she just hated losing to Rygel. Repeatedly.
The little slug had been smooth, he had to admit it. Sparky had flown low under the radar, winning often but with little fanfare, losing every now and again---his embroidered collar and purple over-robe lay in the tangled pile of discarded clothing---to avoid undue suspicion. He’d suckered them all.
What the hell. Crichton turned the chip over, sighed in relief, and laid the others down.
“Read ‘em and weep, Fluffy. Aces and eights.”
Aeryn grinned. Zhaan laughed and clapped in approval. D’Argo thumped him solidly on the shoulder.
“If you yotzes are finished…” Smugly, Rygel showed his hand. Full house, of all the frickin’ luck.
Chaos erupted.
“I’m telling you, he has to be cheating---I had a great hand, it’s not my fault…”
“Of all your stupid ideas Crichton, this has got to be one of the worst-"
“I am NOT taking off any more clothing, Crichton-"
“Rygel! What are you doing?” Zhaan exclaimed.
Nearly obscured from view by a heap of boots, socks, and pants---and Zhaan’s shift jauntily thrown about his head and shoulders---he looked down upon them haughtily from the safety of his throne sled. “I won. Your possessions are now mine.”
“It’s just a game, Rygel!” Crichton said in exasperation. “And it’s not over yet!”
“I beg to differ.” With a final smirk, the Sixteenth Dominar of Hyneria flew up a nearby ventilation shaft. A lone white sock tumbled back down to land on D’Argo’s head.
“He’s joking.” Crichton smiled lamely. “Hey guys, I’m sure he’s joking. He doesn’t really mean it, he’s just having some fun… Hey, where are you all going? Zhaan? It was a game! Aeryn? This was fun---we were having fun! Well, okay, some of us were having fun, up until Sparky took off with our clothes, but guys… Guys? Hey D’Argo, look, here’s your boot…”
Setting/Spoilers: Season 1, before ABL
Beta: unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Just took them out to play---for fun, not profit---and then put them right back in Henson's toybox.
Author's Notes: For the Farscape Friday 'cabin fever' challenge.
Stupid Human Tricks
by StarsGoBlue
How the hell did I end up in this mess?
Crichton slid an uneasy glance around. Zhaan sat at his left elbow, D’Argo to his right. Aeryn was directly opposite him, glaring daggers. If looks could kill, the silver ice of her eyes would’ve flayed him on the spot.
As usual, they blamed him---held him responsible for his stupid Human tricks, for his ideas.
No one had forced them to go along with it, he thought defensively, hunching his shoulders a bit against Moya’s cool ambient temperature, rubbing the gooseflesh of his arm with one hand as he contemplated his next move. If he blew it, he was dead meat.
A mostly-naked Aeryn in front of him was one hell of a distraction, though, even if she was pissed off. His attention---and eyes---kept wandering over to the bare expanse of her midriff (it had been something of a shock to realize she had no belly-button)… long, elegant legs… tiny toes that cried out for shell-pink polish…
A warning rumble from D’Argo hastily refocused his concentration where it belonged.
Considering the tiny etched chips in his hand, he tossed one aside and took another from the face-down pile.
“What have you got?” Rygel asked solicitously. His High Stinkiness hovered just out of reach of D’Argo’s long arm.
“I haven’t even looked at it yet, gimme a minute.”
“Microt,” Aeryn corrected through gritted teeth.
“Whatever.” He scowled, rubbed at his lip. Buckwheat had to be bluffing; but damn, the little toad had a serious poker face.
It was supposed to be fun---it was just a game, for crying out loud. They’d all been on edge and grouchy, sneaking around hiding from Crais’ command carrier, nothing to do but maintenance, sleep, eat, more maintenance… It made no sense, but on board this enormous living ship, this amazing Leviathan, they were bored out of their skulls and driving each other nuts.
So he’d had an idea. It had been relatively easy to convince one of the DRDs to mark the cache of blank ident chips they’d found in a storage compartment. They’d intended to use food cubes for betting, but Rygel’s inclusion nipped that idea in the bud.
Crichton had suggested the strip-variety of poker as a joke. Now, it appeared the joke was on him.
Aeryn was down to her tight black half-shirt (don’t look, get your head in the game, John boy) and the Calvins she’d swiped and had yet to return. Zhaan was already buck naked---she’d only been wearing her shift and caftan.
And God help him, all D’Argo had left was a loincloth.
Crichton shifted uncomfortably. He only had one sock and his IASA-issue boxers, himself.
Zhaan frowned at him, impatience seeping through her usual serenity. Crichton knew the nudity didn’t bother her---she just hated losing to Rygel. Repeatedly.
The little slug had been smooth, he had to admit it. Sparky had flown low under the radar, winning often but with little fanfare, losing every now and again---his embroidered collar and purple over-robe lay in the tangled pile of discarded clothing---to avoid undue suspicion. He’d suckered them all.
What the hell. Crichton turned the chip over, sighed in relief, and laid the others down.
“Read ‘em and weep, Fluffy. Aces and eights.”
Aeryn grinned. Zhaan laughed and clapped in approval. D’Argo thumped him solidly on the shoulder.
“If you yotzes are finished…” Smugly, Rygel showed his hand. Full house, of all the frickin’ luck.
Chaos erupted.
“I’m telling you, he has to be cheating---I had a great hand, it’s not my fault…”
“Of all your stupid ideas Crichton, this has got to be one of the worst-"
“I am NOT taking off any more clothing, Crichton-"
“Rygel! What are you doing?” Zhaan exclaimed.
Nearly obscured from view by a heap of boots, socks, and pants---and Zhaan’s shift jauntily thrown about his head and shoulders---he looked down upon them haughtily from the safety of his throne sled. “I won. Your possessions are now mine.”
“It’s just a game, Rygel!” Crichton said in exasperation. “And it’s not over yet!”
“I beg to differ.” With a final smirk, the Sixteenth Dominar of Hyneria flew up a nearby ventilation shaft. A lone white sock tumbled back down to land on D’Argo’s head.
“He’s joking.” Crichton smiled lamely. “Hey guys, I’m sure he’s joking. He doesn’t really mean it, he’s just having some fun… Hey, where are you all going? Zhaan? It was a game! Aeryn? This was fun---we were having fun! Well, okay, some of us were having fun, up until Sparky took off with our clothes, but guys… Guys? Hey D’Argo, look, here’s your boot…”