TVU603: Series Bingo, Farscape Fics and Writings
Writing Card:
My show is Farscape, and I’ve divided my entries into fics and bletherings
Fics
All rated G. Settings and spoilers throughout. Not mine, no money made. Arranged in sort of chronological order.
Over-all theme: Everything begins with family.
“What ya watchin’ son?” Jack Crichton asked his teenaged son. The boy sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor in family room eagerly watching some loud, trashy TV show.
“It’s called Buck Rogers, dad,” John replied, not taking his eyes from the screen. Jack settled himself on the couch and began to watch with half an eye. It was all fantasy spaceships. “It’s about an astronaut.”
“Son, you know being an astronaut is nothing like… this, don’t you?” Jack eventually remarked. He almost wished he hadn’t said anything. A hurt look seemed to come over John’s previously happily smiling face.
“What, you don’t know anyone like Colonel Deering?” John asked wide eyed, indicating the attractive brunette pilot currently drawing the camera’s full attention. John’s hurt expression slowly morphed into a grin and then a broad wink. “That’s sad.”
“Sorry son.” Jack shook his head and laughed. “But maybe when you’re an astronaut?”
“Nah, I prefer blondes,” John chuckled, turning back to watch his show.
Word: Leather:
“That leather Peacekeeper uniform really suits you, John,” Aeryn leant against the wall and cast an appraising gaze up and down the pleasing form of John Crichton. Piles of alternate uniforms were stacked all around the chamber: There must have been hundreds of outfits, in dozens of designs, but the one he had on was especially acceptable to her sight.
“Thanks, Aeryn,” he grinned back, “You’re looking pretty amazing yourself. Is that vest really regulation PK issue?”
“Must be,” she shrugged, looking down to watch herself run her fingers up and down the large open V-neck of her new favourite garment. She shrugged, helping to settle it on her shoulders, getting the height of the zip just right. John watched and whistled musically. She was sure it was in appreciation of what he was seeing, although she was ignorant of the full meaning of the sound so didn’t thump him or jump him. She simply allowed herself the ghost of a smile.
“Wow,” he shook his head and bit on his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling as he watched her. “I can’t believe we’ve been on Moya a whole year and never found the wardrobe before today.”
“What the frell is a wardrobe, John?” she frowned back.
Characters: Pre-ep filler for The Ugly Truth.
Pilot reached out one of his four claws and activated the control to bring Moya out of Starburst and back into normal space.
“What’s up!?” John Crichton demanded to know as he rushed onto command, pulling on a black T shirt over his muscled torso. He had arrived only a microt behind Aeryn Sun, who had clumped in dressed only in her unfastened combat boots and John Crichton’s Calvins and his old white T shirt. Zhaan looked up from her console as they entered and smiled indulgently. Both of them seemed to be pretending that their simultaneous, semi-clothed arrival was a coincidence. But if they wanted to pretend to everyone that they were not recreating, who was she to force them to admit otherwise?
“Why was my sleep interrupted?” Rygel demanded imperiously as he hovered onto command through another doorway. He was closely followed by D’Argo and Chiana, whose hands were still all over each other. At least there was no pretence there, Zhaan thought to herself.
“Moya has detected a signal,” she explained. “Directed at us.”
“Scorpius?” Aeryn demanded, anxiety momentarily breaking through her steely mask. The mere mention of that name made Stark cringe with fear and loathing. John placed a comforting hand on the Banik’s arm, calming him slightly.
“No,” Zhaan shook her head. “It appears to be Talyn.”
“And Crais?” John muttered darkly.
“Indeed,” Zhaan nodded. She took a deep breath, knowing her next statement would cause a commotion. “He wants us to go aboard and talk.” And that, as she had predicted, was when the noisy argument began.
Setting: Moya
DRD-1664 trundled down Moya’s corridor, going about his morning routine. Ever since he had been created he had been assigned to clean crew-quarters and the central chamber between arn 6 and arn 8. First stop was Zhaan’s. She wasn’t there. 1664 wasn’t surprised. She was probably taking advantage of an empty Observation Deck to catch a few rays of starlight. And her room was as tidy as ever. Just change the pollen filter by the door and move on. Next, Officer Sun’s quarters. Again, she was rarely there at this arn. If she wasn’t in Crichton’s quarters, she’d be on Command, in her gym or having first meal. Never in (her own) bed. 1664 collected a few long, black stray hairs, which the fastidious occupant had missed from her own tidying, and moved on. Hairs could get everywhere in Moya’s systems and cause untold damage - it was important to collect them all. Now on to Commander Crichton’s quarters. He was sleeping alone, snoring like a hungry Brindz hound. 1664 surveyed the piles of dirty laundry and old food receptacles and, like most mornings, beeped out a message to summon the Emergency DRD Detail. Leaving them to it, 1664 trundled on towards the Central Chamber. A noise ahead alerted him to the presence of Rygel within. 1664 chirped noisily, a mix of anger and despair. He knew what would await him: food everywhere, unwashed dishes galore and a strange, pervasive and noxious smell.
1664 realised sadly that he should have sent the Emergency Detail to the central chamber and just buckled down and dealt with the mess in Crichton’s quarters himself.
500 words: The Body Mechanic
Consciousness returned to him with an electric jolt, coursing through his every fibre. He struggled to open his eyes, but they seemed glued shut. He felt so very, very unwell: half dead. Slowly, in fits and starts, sensations began to trickle in from his frayed and abused nerve endings. He began to seize upon small snippets of understanding as they floated by: He established that he was lying on some sort of bed, connected up to all sorts of wires, pumps and drips. Maybe he was in a hospital? But why could he not remember what had brought him to this place? Or even remember his name? John? John Cretin? John Crouton? Yes, that seemed about right. His name was John Crouton, he was sure of it.
A hand softly touched his cheek. “Welcome back, Johnny boy,” a muffled female voice called to him through the fog of his returning hearing. He remembered a woman, a beautiful woman he had loved. He remembered strong, aquiline features framed by long, impossibly thick dark hair, and so much hidden sadness and pain behind her blue-grey eyes. “Lie still, it’ll be days yet before you’re recovered,” she said. “No more sex for you till we get you unplugged from the regenerator.”
She fell silent. There was just the beeping of machines now, the whirring of pumps to fill his ears. He searched his memories, trying to remember. Something about sex. About him not being maxed-out. Sex with her had been out of this world.
There’d been a space ship. Was it called a module? It was his, but not his. He had had to fly an important but dangerous mission. She’d not wanted him to fly it. She was the better pilot, his memory told him, but still it had to be him. It wasn’t like dusting crops. “You’re lucky I found you,” the woman spoke again. “The module was headin’ to crash into a star.”
Radiant. Her smile was radiant like a star. Other memories crowded into his mind: She was crying and he was sick. He was so very, very sick, lying on a big, black bed. But he’d told her he’d never felt better. Why had he told her that?
Finally his eyes struggled open. She was leaning over him, her round, well-fed face smiling, happy he was awake. Her hands stroked his chest softly yet possessively. “Good to see you, Johnny,” she winked. Why were her eyes white and not grey? And where was her beautiful, long dark hair? Surely not hidden beneath her strange skull cap? There had been so much hair in his memory.
“Hair..?” His voiced croaked through cracked lips. The word triggered something in his memory: a name, her name. “Aer… Aeryn? Are you Aeryn?”
She seemed to frown for a moment and then smiled broadly. “Doc said you’d have a bit of memory loss.” She silently pondered for another few moments. “Yeah, Aeryn. I’m Aeryn.” She smiled broadly and pouted at him in a most disconcerting way. Funny, her smile wasn’t at all radiant, not like he remembered.
“Never look a gift pack-animal in the mouth, that’s my motto,” Furlow chortled with glee as she fussed around a bemused John Crichton.
Alternative Opening Monologue
My name is Dominar Rygel XVIth. Three years ago I escaped from being a prisoner of the Peacekeepers. I acquired the living ship that had been my prison and gathered around me a disparate and grateful group of others who I had helped to escape. I have grown quite fond of some of them. Powerful, dangerous enemies have tried to stop me returning home to regain my throne, but they will not succeed. Bow down, and then look upwards to pay homage to your matchless Dominar.
Drabble: A Piece Of Me?
Everyone out here seemed to want a piece of him. Some took it literally, the types who wanted, say, a sample of his eyeballs, or blood, or brains. Others took things more metaphorically - they were the types who wanted his innermost thoughts, secrets or knowledge, including stuff he hadn’t originally realised he knew, like wormhole equations. And others, what John liked to think of as the traditionalists, just wanted to fight, to hurt him or kill him.
Of course lately there was one person who just wanted him, and somehow knowing how Aeryn felt went a long way towards compensating for all of the others.
Bletherings
Over-all trope: Character Development.
There are an awful lot of tropes listed for Farscape on the TVTropes page. Few of them, though, can claim to be the overall trope of the series - there is just so much going on. Some almost fit, like Badass Longcoat, which we see an awful lot of, but they don’t really tell us anything about the show. Except maybe that there are a lot of badasses in longcoats on screen. No, when I read the TVTropes page for Farscape, one heading leapt out at me over and above the rest, and that was Character Development.
Farscape was a character driven show. It was all about how the characters changed and developed, both in response to outside events and forces and to each other. Not a single one of the main characters stayed the same, and there was always a reason and a natural pace to how they changed. You will barely notice it happening most of the time as you watch, but then, if you flash back a series or two, you will be amazed at the changes you'll see in them.
I have one last point to make as to why the overall trope of this show was Character Development: The show gave us one of the coolest, most succinct character arc descriptions ever in John Crichton’s words to Aeryn Sun in the very first episode: “You can be more.”
Free: Why watch Farscape?
OK, so you’ve made it this far but you’ve never heard of the show. Or you’ve heard of it but never watched it. Or you began watching from the start but weren’t grabbed and so stopped watching: It happens, the show doesn’t really hit its stride till halfway through season one. Or maybe you caught a later ep and couldn’t work out what was going on? I understand, the show is famous for its continuity, story arcs and character development. That makes it hard to dip into.
So, this isn’t going to be one of those ‘Why you should watch my show’ posts. We all like different stuff, and I don’t see the point in badly repeating what others have already said. Besides, there are some very popular shows that I can’t abide. This is all well and good - life would be boring if we all liked the same things. Feel free to not like Farscape.
No, what I’m going to give you is an anecdote about my little brother and his wife. For years they rolled their eyes dismissively at Farscape without ever having watched it. Then one day this year, out of boredom and, I suspect, lack of other shows they wanted to watch, they put it on their Netflix queue. To begin with they kept snarking about the show, as I had expected. Then all of a sudden, maybe late season one, things changed. Every time I spoke to them they were more and more excited about the show, wanted to know what happened next. How would they resolve that cliffhanger? Was XXX going mad? Was YYY really dead? Would X and Y ever get together? I smiled. “You’ll see,” I would say.
So, Farscape? Well, if you do give it a go you might get lucky and find the shows grabs you, too. Or you may not. It’s all good, I won’t judge you for it. Good luck!
My show is Farscape, and I’ve divided my entries into fics and bletherings
Fics
All rated G. Settings and spoilers throughout. Not mine, no money made. Arranged in sort of chronological order.
Over-all theme: Everything begins with family.
“What ya watchin’ son?” Jack Crichton asked his teenaged son. The boy sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor in family room eagerly watching some loud, trashy TV show.
“It’s called Buck Rogers, dad,” John replied, not taking his eyes from the screen. Jack settled himself on the couch and began to watch with half an eye. It was all fantasy spaceships. “It’s about an astronaut.”
“Son, you know being an astronaut is nothing like… this, don’t you?” Jack eventually remarked. He almost wished he hadn’t said anything. A hurt look seemed to come over John’s previously happily smiling face.
“What, you don’t know anyone like Colonel Deering?” John asked wide eyed, indicating the attractive brunette pilot currently drawing the camera’s full attention. John’s hurt expression slowly morphed into a grin and then a broad wink. “That’s sad.”
“Sorry son.” Jack shook his head and laughed. “But maybe when you’re an astronaut?”
“Nah, I prefer blondes,” John chuckled, turning back to watch his show.
Word: Leather:
“That leather Peacekeeper uniform really suits you, John,” Aeryn leant against the wall and cast an appraising gaze up and down the pleasing form of John Crichton. Piles of alternate uniforms were stacked all around the chamber: There must have been hundreds of outfits, in dozens of designs, but the one he had on was especially acceptable to her sight.
“Thanks, Aeryn,” he grinned back, “You’re looking pretty amazing yourself. Is that vest really regulation PK issue?”
“Must be,” she shrugged, looking down to watch herself run her fingers up and down the large open V-neck of her new favourite garment. She shrugged, helping to settle it on her shoulders, getting the height of the zip just right. John watched and whistled musically. She was sure it was in appreciation of what he was seeing, although she was ignorant of the full meaning of the sound so didn’t thump him or jump him. She simply allowed herself the ghost of a smile.
“Wow,” he shook his head and bit on his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling as he watched her. “I can’t believe we’ve been on Moya a whole year and never found the wardrobe before today.”
“What the frell is a wardrobe, John?” she frowned back.
Characters: Pre-ep filler for The Ugly Truth.
Pilot reached out one of his four claws and activated the control to bring Moya out of Starburst and back into normal space.
“What’s up!?” John Crichton demanded to know as he rushed onto command, pulling on a black T shirt over his muscled torso. He had arrived only a microt behind Aeryn Sun, who had clumped in dressed only in her unfastened combat boots and John Crichton’s Calvins and his old white T shirt. Zhaan looked up from her console as they entered and smiled indulgently. Both of them seemed to be pretending that their simultaneous, semi-clothed arrival was a coincidence. But if they wanted to pretend to everyone that they were not recreating, who was she to force them to admit otherwise?
“Why was my sleep interrupted?” Rygel demanded imperiously as he hovered onto command through another doorway. He was closely followed by D’Argo and Chiana, whose hands were still all over each other. At least there was no pretence there, Zhaan thought to herself.
“Moya has detected a signal,” she explained. “Directed at us.”
“Scorpius?” Aeryn demanded, anxiety momentarily breaking through her steely mask. The mere mention of that name made Stark cringe with fear and loathing. John placed a comforting hand on the Banik’s arm, calming him slightly.
“No,” Zhaan shook her head. “It appears to be Talyn.”
“And Crais?” John muttered darkly.
“Indeed,” Zhaan nodded. She took a deep breath, knowing her next statement would cause a commotion. “He wants us to go aboard and talk.” And that, as she had predicted, was when the noisy argument began.
Setting: Moya
DRD-1664 trundled down Moya’s corridor, going about his morning routine. Ever since he had been created he had been assigned to clean crew-quarters and the central chamber between arn 6 and arn 8. First stop was Zhaan’s. She wasn’t there. 1664 wasn’t surprised. She was probably taking advantage of an empty Observation Deck to catch a few rays of starlight. And her room was as tidy as ever. Just change the pollen filter by the door and move on. Next, Officer Sun’s quarters. Again, she was rarely there at this arn. If she wasn’t in Crichton’s quarters, she’d be on Command, in her gym or having first meal. Never in (her own) bed. 1664 collected a few long, black stray hairs, which the fastidious occupant had missed from her own tidying, and moved on. Hairs could get everywhere in Moya’s systems and cause untold damage - it was important to collect them all. Now on to Commander Crichton’s quarters. He was sleeping alone, snoring like a hungry Brindz hound. 1664 surveyed the piles of dirty laundry and old food receptacles and, like most mornings, beeped out a message to summon the Emergency DRD Detail. Leaving them to it, 1664 trundled on towards the Central Chamber. A noise ahead alerted him to the presence of Rygel within. 1664 chirped noisily, a mix of anger and despair. He knew what would await him: food everywhere, unwashed dishes galore and a strange, pervasive and noxious smell.
1664 realised sadly that he should have sent the Emergency Detail to the central chamber and just buckled down and dealt with the mess in Crichton’s quarters himself.
500 words: The Body Mechanic
Consciousness returned to him with an electric jolt, coursing through his every fibre. He struggled to open his eyes, but they seemed glued shut. He felt so very, very unwell: half dead. Slowly, in fits and starts, sensations began to trickle in from his frayed and abused nerve endings. He began to seize upon small snippets of understanding as they floated by: He established that he was lying on some sort of bed, connected up to all sorts of wires, pumps and drips. Maybe he was in a hospital? But why could he not remember what had brought him to this place? Or even remember his name? John? John Cretin? John Crouton? Yes, that seemed about right. His name was John Crouton, he was sure of it.
A hand softly touched his cheek. “Welcome back, Johnny boy,” a muffled female voice called to him through the fog of his returning hearing. He remembered a woman, a beautiful woman he had loved. He remembered strong, aquiline features framed by long, impossibly thick dark hair, and so much hidden sadness and pain behind her blue-grey eyes. “Lie still, it’ll be days yet before you’re recovered,” she said. “No more sex for you till we get you unplugged from the regenerator.”
She fell silent. There was just the beeping of machines now, the whirring of pumps to fill his ears. He searched his memories, trying to remember. Something about sex. About him not being maxed-out. Sex with her had been out of this world.
There’d been a space ship. Was it called a module? It was his, but not his. He had had to fly an important but dangerous mission. She’d not wanted him to fly it. She was the better pilot, his memory told him, but still it had to be him. It wasn’t like dusting crops. “You’re lucky I found you,” the woman spoke again. “The module was headin’ to crash into a star.”
Radiant. Her smile was radiant like a star. Other memories crowded into his mind: She was crying and he was sick. He was so very, very sick, lying on a big, black bed. But he’d told her he’d never felt better. Why had he told her that?
Finally his eyes struggled open. She was leaning over him, her round, well-fed face smiling, happy he was awake. Her hands stroked his chest softly yet possessively. “Good to see you, Johnny,” she winked. Why were her eyes white and not grey? And where was her beautiful, long dark hair? Surely not hidden beneath her strange skull cap? There had been so much hair in his memory.
“Hair..?” His voiced croaked through cracked lips. The word triggered something in his memory: a name, her name. “Aer… Aeryn? Are you Aeryn?”
She seemed to frown for a moment and then smiled broadly. “Doc said you’d have a bit of memory loss.” She silently pondered for another few moments. “Yeah, Aeryn. I’m Aeryn.” She smiled broadly and pouted at him in a most disconcerting way. Funny, her smile wasn’t at all radiant, not like he remembered.
“Never look a gift pack-animal in the mouth, that’s my motto,” Furlow chortled with glee as she fussed around a bemused John Crichton.
Alternative Opening Monologue
My name is Dominar Rygel XVIth. Three years ago I escaped from being a prisoner of the Peacekeepers. I acquired the living ship that had been my prison and gathered around me a disparate and grateful group of others who I had helped to escape. I have grown quite fond of some of them. Powerful, dangerous enemies have tried to stop me returning home to regain my throne, but they will not succeed. Bow down, and then look upwards to pay homage to your matchless Dominar.
Drabble: A Piece Of Me?
Everyone out here seemed to want a piece of him. Some took it literally, the types who wanted, say, a sample of his eyeballs, or blood, or brains. Others took things more metaphorically - they were the types who wanted his innermost thoughts, secrets or knowledge, including stuff he hadn’t originally realised he knew, like wormhole equations. And others, what John liked to think of as the traditionalists, just wanted to fight, to hurt him or kill him.
Of course lately there was one person who just wanted him, and somehow knowing how Aeryn felt went a long way towards compensating for all of the others.
Bletherings
Over-all trope: Character Development.
There are an awful lot of tropes listed for Farscape on the TVTropes page. Few of them, though, can claim to be the overall trope of the series - there is just so much going on. Some almost fit, like Badass Longcoat, which we see an awful lot of, but they don’t really tell us anything about the show. Except maybe that there are a lot of badasses in longcoats on screen. No, when I read the TVTropes page for Farscape, one heading leapt out at me over and above the rest, and that was Character Development.
Farscape was a character driven show. It was all about how the characters changed and developed, both in response to outside events and forces and to each other. Not a single one of the main characters stayed the same, and there was always a reason and a natural pace to how they changed. You will barely notice it happening most of the time as you watch, but then, if you flash back a series or two, you will be amazed at the changes you'll see in them.
I have one last point to make as to why the overall trope of this show was Character Development: The show gave us one of the coolest, most succinct character arc descriptions ever in John Crichton’s words to Aeryn Sun in the very first episode: “You can be more.”
Free: Why watch Farscape?
OK, so you’ve made it this far but you’ve never heard of the show. Or you’ve heard of it but never watched it. Or you began watching from the start but weren’t grabbed and so stopped watching: It happens, the show doesn’t really hit its stride till halfway through season one. Or maybe you caught a later ep and couldn’t work out what was going on? I understand, the show is famous for its continuity, story arcs and character development. That makes it hard to dip into.
So, this isn’t going to be one of those ‘Why you should watch my show’ posts. We all like different stuff, and I don’t see the point in badly repeating what others have already said. Besides, there are some very popular shows that I can’t abide. This is all well and good - life would be boring if we all liked the same things. Feel free to not like Farscape.
No, what I’m going to give you is an anecdote about my little brother and his wife. For years they rolled their eyes dismissively at Farscape without ever having watched it. Then one day this year, out of boredom and, I suspect, lack of other shows they wanted to watch, they put it on their Netflix queue. To begin with they kept snarking about the show, as I had expected. Then all of a sudden, maybe late season one, things changed. Every time I spoke to them they were more and more excited about the show, wanted to know what happened next. How would they resolve that cliffhanger? Was XXX going mad? Was YYY really dead? Would X and Y ever get together? I smiled. “You’ll see,” I would say.
So, Farscape? Well, if you do give it a go you might get lucky and find the shows grabs you, too. Or you may not. It’s all good, I won’t judge you for it. Good luck!