Disclaimers: Somewhere at the beginning of this loonacy, RevSam and Grace graciously consented (under threat of dire consequences to dragon if she didn't) to allow themselves to be utilized in this fantasy. Farscape belongs to ---- uh -- someone else, SciFi Channel, etc. dragon is, of course, dragon.
Summary: Guess who's decided to play Santa?
Spoilers: None.
Season: Anywhere before "The Return of Durka."
Note: It would probably help you a great deal to have read dragon's Mortal Kombat: Conquest "lurk" stories -- "A Lurk in Old Zhou Zhin" and "Rayden's Wet Nightshirt Contest" (still unfinished, ergo the "annoyed thunder-god" mentions) in order to get some of the jokes. In addition, there are references to the Forever Knight fan group and Stargate SG1 -- but nothing that will cause you to miss a moment's Farscape Fun. In essence, the gist of a "lurk" is that the author and her cohorts (including the Keeper of this Library) have the ability to place themselves in the fandoms they write about -- much to the usual dismay of the unwitting characters at whose expense they typically have some fun. Case in point. ;)
And now, Sheshat's Library proudly presents . . . . .
Lurk Who's Coming to Dinner
© 1999, dragon
~ parte the first ~
"Crichton?" Zhaan had gone looking for the Earth-man when he hadn't shown up for lunch. The wondrously blue woman showed a genuine concern for all her fellow travelers. In this case, it was beginning to look as though it might be deserved. She looked in the doorway to Crichton's quarters to find the sandy haired male sitting on his bed, his legs pulled up with his arms wrapped around them, observing a vase of flowers sitting on a small table on the other side of the room. His forehead was furrowed in a frown. Even from the doorway, Zhaan was aware of the heady scent given off by the flowers. She regarded him with concern.
"Crichton."
He jumped. He didn't move more than his head to look at the Pa'u. He blinked at her almost as though he didn't recognize what he was seeing. "Oh. Hi, Zhaan." The voice was carefully monotone. Something was deeply disturbing the man.
Zhaan walked across the room to his side, her blue on blue draperies whispering as she moved. He marveled at how such a big woman could move so gracefully. He sat on the marvel. "What is it?" Direct and to the point, as always.
He nodded at the flowers. Zhaan, ever curious, moved to the small table. The smell was a combination of floral notes. She inhaled deeply. John Crichton blinked. Zhaan was acting like she saw the flowers. No, not just saw. He uncurled from his withdrawn posture and walked over to the table, his gaze switching from the flowers to Zhaan and back. She looked at him curiously.
He blinked furiously for a moment, organizing his rattled thoughts. Finally, the first thing he thought of popped out of his mouth, as usual. "You can -- experience them?"
"Yes. They're quite -- exotic. The scent is unlike any I've ever smelled. Where did you find them?"
"There!" he snapped, a little louder and more harsh than he intended. "Sorry. They were just sitting there when I woke up. I -- I thought -- I mean--"
"It's all right. They're beautiful." Zhaan was trying to be reassuring. She sensed nothing dangerous about the plants. Indeed, they weren't even full plants, which was sad, she would have liked to have seen the full thing.
"They're from Earth," he stated flatly, his voice cracking a little on the final word.
Zhaan started to compliment him on having such beauty on his homeworld and stopped. He watched the thoughts flicker across her serene face.
"Uh-huh," he agreed, regardless of the actual form, the content was the same as his, now that he was certain he wasn't just hallucinating the vase full of roses. Her blue on blue eyes met his.
"How did they get here?" she asked softly, her fingertips brushing the velvet petals.
"I don't know."
They stared at the flowers in unison.
Elsewhere on board Moya, Aeryn Sun was beginning to cuss like the trooper she had been. It wasn't that she didn't like the new gun. It was well designed, felt right in her hands and was gloriously deadly looking. Unfortunately, an inadvertent touch on the hair trigger had shown her the flaw in the design. A large, black lettered on red flag now protruded from the barrel. The flag said "Bang! You're dead". Aeryn didn't find the joke funny -- well, not very funny. Really. Not. Which was probably why the ends of her lips kept quirking up in that funny smile while she cussed and tried very hard not to laugh.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Pilot was trying to track down an anomaly. First there was too much weight on one level, and then it was gone. Then there was extra weight over there, and then it was gone. It wasn't dangerous, it was just very, very annoying that he couldn't track it down.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
dragon looked around the corner of the corridor, though she would most likely have described it as a curve. Really, this was all Grace's fault. If only she hadn't mentioned -- I mean really. Oh, goodness, there was D'Argo again. Not something dragon wanted to meet in a dark alley, a well lit hallway or much of any place else, too paranoid by half. She ducked back into the alcove in which she had taken refuge after narrowly avoiding running smack dab into Rygel. She did hope he liked whatever that stuff was she'd left him. It smelled horrible and looked pretty revolting, she thought it seemed more like something to polish your battle ship with than an edible, but then people said that about Limburger and Camembert cheeses.
Oh, my. Was he supposed to have incendiary belches?
~ parte the second ~
D'Argo was stalking down the corridors of the Leviathan ship Moya as was his wont, when he was surprised to see a gout of flame blow out of Rygel's quarters. He wondered what the little runt was up to now. He strode up to the opening to investigate, then knew a moment of caution. Frowning, he opted for taking a peek instead of just striding into the rooms.
This was a good thing. Rygel was stirring the unappetizing, to anyone else, looking glop dragon had left him. The aroma was -- well, ahhhhhh. He spooned some into his mouth and smiled beatifically. It was -- well, the sensations as it slid down his gullet into his stomach were -- difficult -- to describe. But they were ones that he approved of something more than 100%, if that was possible. He belched. A jet of flame ignited about three feet from his claw toed little body. He regarded it with fondness. My. That was tasty. His internal organs did something akin to a human hiccup. Rygel looked -- well, on anyone else, the term plastered might come to mind. He took another spoonful of the delightful stuff and slid bonelessly off his airlift chair onto the floor where he lay considering just how beautiful the ceiling provided by the Leviathan Moya was. Buuurrraaapppp! It was a deep throated, somehow content noise.
D'Argo, standing beside the doorway and gazing in with a thoughtful frown on his face, noted that the incendiary discharge seemed to be quite thoughtful, ending before it quite touched, or even warmed too greatly, the vaulted ceiling of Rygel's chambers. D'Argo stalked into the room, relatively certain that the inebriated little [insert derogatory epithet in the language of your choice] was unable to rise to the table, much less any sort of occasion. He took a cautious sniff at the -- Whew! What a stench!
Rygel, prone, regarded D'Argo with a pleased look. My, what a handsome -- whatever it was D'Argo was -- he was. Quite striking. Something vaguely resembling a troubled look flitted across the flat-topped gray face. Striking. Oh, yes. D'Argo was very striking. Especially when roused to ire. Rygel hiccuped and laughed softly. It was a good thing they were friends.
Rygel spun that thought through his less than usually crisp, clear thought processes for further examination. Why, yes. They were. Friends. How odd. Rygel had -- never -- well, there was -- no, probably not -- friends. Rygel snored, not gently.
D'Argo made a face at the peacefully sleeping runt and left to report to Zhaan that the obnoxious [insert different derogatory epithet of your choice] was both inebriated and unconscious. He met Aeryn Sun on the way to the bridge. He frowned at her newly acquired weapon. It looked -- nicely deadly. Something about the slightly quivering around the edges attitude of the ex-Peacekeeper bade him hold his tongue until a more appropriate time.
Zhaan and Crichton were already in the control room, with the roses. They looked up curiously when Aeryn and D'Argo joined them. Crichton looked at the gun. Aeryn looked at the roses. Stopped, sniffed and walked over, her face not nearly as stern as usual.
"They're beautiful. What are they?" she asked, setting the gun down.
"Roses," Zhaan replied. "Or so Crichton tells me they are called." She was just finishing up checking the cell structure and looking for any sign of contaminants. The rose she had used was just that. A rose.
Aeryn took a deep breath next to the flowers and hiccuped. She looked surprised and then sat down on the chair D'Argo, with unaccustomed thoughtfulness, had placed within reach. "Wow. Oh, my." Crichton frowned as her always somewhat husky, throaty voice got more so. She smiled at him. Damn, but he was a decent looking sort, for a non-Peacekeeper. Yeah. She leaned her elbows on the table and then leaned her face on her hands so she could keep a steady eye on her shipmate. This, naturally, brought her in range of the roses and their intoxicating scent, which she inhaled.
dragon, watching from a respectful distance, was frowning. UH. Hmmmm. Somewhere deep inside, she suspected she was gonna be in trouble. You're not in trouble unless you get caught, she reminded herself.
"Excuse me," a voice out of the air surprised her.
She turned slowly to see one of those wonderful round projection thingies they used to communicate with Pilot. Yep. Pilot. "Uh -- hi?" dragon said doubtfully and tried a kind of weak smile. Disarming, that's what she wanted to be. (Well, that was only partially true. Mostly what she wanted was not to be engaged in a conversation with Pilot.)
At this point, dragon's co-conspirator rounded one of Moya's not quite corners and came to a swift halt. Luckily, she was behind dragon and dragon's bulk was positioned so that, for the moment, Grace was invisible to Pilot. Oh, dear, she gulped mentally and looked for a place to hide before dragon either moved or folded out of the Leviathan. Hiding Grace was not that hard, on the other hand, hiding the yards and yards and yards of shiny silver blue fabric, along with the ridiculous bundle of ribbons dragon had handed her, was another matter all together. She ducked back around the curve and hoped none of the trailing material was showing while she listened in on the conversation.
"Hello. I am Pilot. Who are you? How did you come aboard? I do not remember you doing this."
"Oh. Well. Actually -- uhm --I didn't."
Pilot took a moment to digest this. He consulted the readings he was getting from Moya. There was mass. There was air displacement. There was sound and sight. dragon got the impression he was frowning in puzzlement. "You didn't. Then how are you here?"
"I'm not."
"You are," Pilot pointed out courteously. "This is not an hallucination. You are aboard the Leviathan ship Moya."
"Oh. Really?"
Grace marveled at just how air-headedly convincing dragon sounded. She almost giggled, but stifled the sound in the fabric. Well, dragon would -- get herself out of this. Now, where was Zhaan staying aboard this thing? She rustled quietly down the corridor trying to avoid the "mice" and everyone else on board.
"Yes."
"Ah. That would explain it," she agreed knowledgeably.
"Explain what?"
"Why I don't seem to be there." dragon was trying furiously to recall which pocket of her long rider coat had the current version of the all purpose lurker tesserect in it. She was also praying that she hadn't absent mindedly set the dratted thing down somewhere. She'd already had one experience with someone who didn't know what it was getting lost using it. (Mind you, bog covered Rayden did have it's moments, but annoyed thunder god is a bad thing.) She finally located it nestled in the inside pocket, next to her heart which was still in thumpety-bang mode from Pilot's first contact.
"Where, exactly, is there?" Pilot asked, and then found himself wondering just how he had thought a hallucination could have mass. His senses did not like watching space fold at that proximity.
Meanwhile, Grace had discovered the sleeping Rygel and wondered if the stuff was supposed to do that to him. Then she found Zhaan's quarters and went to work with a grin. It would be a while before the 9th, or was it 10th?, level Pa'u discovered the ribbon and silver-blue additions to her quarters. Grace hoped she liked it. It just seemed so -- right -- when dragon explained it to her.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Crichton and Zhaan were regarding Aeryn with worried frowns. Crichton started to move the flowers.
"No. I like them. I like this, too," she told him, picking up the gun and pointing it at him. Crichton looked scared for the second time in about an hour as he realized that she had pulled the trigger. He leaped backwards and sideways with a yelp. This time Aeryn realized that the gun was funny, very very funny. By the time Crichton realized he wasn't dead, maimed or even hurt, Aeryn was laughing so hard her head was down on her arms on the table. She drew in a long breath and looked up, her eyes shining with unaccustomed mirth. "Oh, that was funny. That was really funny. Thank you."
Crichton stepped around the table and took the gun from her relaxed grasp. "Yeah. Funny." Bang, you're dead. "Where did you get this?"
Aeryn looked surprised. "I thought it was from you." She thought about it hazily. "It was from you," she informed him, rose to her feet and surprised hell out of the man by kissing him. D'Argo made a disgusted sound and turned away. Zhaan regarded them curiously for the long moments they were intertwined. Crichton seemed to be enjoying it. Good.
Though Aeryn may regret this later, she thought with a sigh.
Right now, Aeryn wasn't regretting anything as she smiled at the human male she'd just kissed. That little blonde tech was right, he was worthwhile. She let go and sat down again. Odd, she didn't recall drinking anything. Oh, yes. That scent. She inhaled and felt fine, just fine.
Want to see the author's other lurks and fiction?
Look in the dragon's Lurks Index.
Email the author!
dragonhavn@zianet.com
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