FIC: Fumigation (1/1) fanfic100 #87 'life'
There's no particular reason for this one, I was just drabbling a little. Turned out a little longer than a drabble, but what the hell.
Title: Fumigation
Fandom: B5 (fanfic100 # 87 'life', table here).
Summary: A day in the life, so on and so forth. S5, mid-ish? Pre-Ragged Edge, at any rate. Londo and Vir and trundling through life's petty annoyances.
*
It had been - how does one put this delicately? - an unbearable trip. G'Kar had demanded the aisle seat, and had threatened him with opera if he did not oblige. As G'Kar had used the threat of opera on the entire trip there and the entire trip back for every little thing (a prayer mat? Knife-sharpeners? Did the Narn not use flints like the rest of the respectable armed worlds? Searching all his visitors, Great Maker, as if everyone wished him dead - no, all right, that one had perhaps been prudent.), Londo had acquired a smidgen of immunity to it and had not budged. Only a smidgen, mind. He didn't want to go so far as to actually risk opera on the nine-hour flight.
That said, a glowering Narn bodyguard did have some advantages, opera notwithstanding, and hurrying him through customs was definitely one of them. He'd been back in his quarters less than half an hour after arrival.
Not that they looked like his quarters, of course. For one thing, his quarters had possessed a visible floor when he had last seen them.
"Great Maker! What happened, Vir? Did an unexpected hurricane strike the station?" Londo picked his way carefully through the debris of his quarters to where Vir stood frozen, suitcase in hand. "What are you doing?"
"Londo! You're back early! I thought you were still on Homeworld. What happened? Did something go wrong with the treaty?"
"No, no, nothing like that. The new Minister for Agriculture appears to be, how do you say it, one of those toys for human children, you put your fingers in it -"
"A hand puppet?" Vir hazarded.
"Yes, yes, a hand puppet - one for his mother-in-law. It was really quite a spectacle Vir, you would have enjoyed it: she spoke not a word, and yet the Minister said precisely what she would have wished him to, down to all the usual rounds of flattery and requests for favours. She is sharp, that one." Londo smiled, showing his teeth. "I like her. She reminds me of my late great aunt Lannia. A veritable harridan when crossed, she almost turned House Mollari into a matriarchy - well, anyway, she has seen the inevitability of the treaty and has persuaded her son-in-law likewise. It is, as Mr Garibaldi is so fond of saying, a done deal. So I thought to come back here with the early shuttle and finalise the arrangements on this end - but how am I to finalise anything when I cannot even locate the floor? Tell me, Vir, what happened to my quarters? I do not recall leaving the entirety of my belongings in the reception room."
Vir's face briefly blanked, as if the reason for it all had escaped him. Londo had the unfortunate suspicion that he had perhaps not escaped his nine-hour flight unscathed. Had he begun to reek of Narn, perhaps? Had his crest drooped? It really did not bear thinking about.
"Fumigation," Vir said at last and - yes, there it was, Londo caught it that time. Vir's ability to control his facial expressions had really improved remarkably during his stay, but there was something about the curl of his lip, quickly stilled -
The boy was amused.
Oh, yes, this is what the universe has seen fit to reduce him to. Emperor-to-be, and he was standing in the wreckage of his quarters, smelling of Narn, while his aide tried not to laugh at his exasperation.
Strangely, the thought did not rankle as much as Londo had once thought it might. "Vir?" he prompted again, shifting from foot to foot. His side ached; G'Kar had dug his horrible sharp elbow into it the entire way back, and had quite simply refused to remove his gauntlet. Honestly, travelling in gauntlet and armour - it would hardly save them from a mad bomber, would it? No, it was all a design to vex him, he was sure of it. Probably thought up in consultation with Timov, thinking on it, for she had been strangely there upon his last visit to the Royal Court, scowling at decorators and generally being far too visible for Londo's liking. He had been forced to ask her to put herself out of sight and desist from making herself quite such a visible target.
That had not gone over terribly well.
"There were some problems with some sort of Drazi insects - they must have come aboard during a supply shipment - and they're all across the level," Vir offered at last. "Maintenance has been working their way through -"
"Yes, yes," Londo waved this all away. Horrible scuttling things; bah, would he never be free of them? "But why is everything out here? Great Maker, this is a mess! I have a bed left, I presume?"
"Well," Vir wrung his hands and ducked his head, as if he could escape Londo's glare by making himself too small to see. "Um, the thing is, ye-no."
"No? Was that delivered to G'Kar's quarters, perhaps, or the Zocalo?"
"No -" he looked slightly pole-axed, as if the idea had not even occurred to him and he suspected that it should have -" should it?" At Londo's thunderous expression, he hurried on, dissuaded from the idea. "Well, everything in the bedroom is still slightly, er, toxic -"
"Toxic!" I need a drink, Londo thought, and not even the memory of Timov and G'Kar scowling at him over the dinner table could dissuade him from it. They were in league, those two; he was sure of it. The Great Maker have mercy on him, for they would not.
"Only a little! And I took out anything you might need for carrying out affairs of state." Vir indicated the pile of clothing. "And your itinerary," he said, as an afterthought. Highlighted at the very top was his wife's hastily-arranged visit. Beside it, in G'Kar's nearly illegible scrawl, was written, "opera is not my only recourse."
"I think - I need a drink." Londo sighed and sat down heavily. He then winced, got up, upended the chair, righted it and sat down again. "A large drink."
*
Title: Fumigation
Fandom: B5 (fanfic100 # 87 'life', table here).
Summary: A day in the life, so on and so forth. S5, mid-ish? Pre-Ragged Edge, at any rate. Londo and Vir and trundling through life's petty annoyances.
*
It had been - how does one put this delicately? - an unbearable trip. G'Kar had demanded the aisle seat, and had threatened him with opera if he did not oblige. As G'Kar had used the threat of opera on the entire trip there and the entire trip back for every little thing (a prayer mat? Knife-sharpeners? Did the Narn not use flints like the rest of the respectable armed worlds? Searching all his visitors, Great Maker, as if everyone wished him dead - no, all right, that one had perhaps been prudent.), Londo had acquired a smidgen of immunity to it and had not budged. Only a smidgen, mind. He didn't want to go so far as to actually risk opera on the nine-hour flight.
That said, a glowering Narn bodyguard did have some advantages, opera notwithstanding, and hurrying him through customs was definitely one of them. He'd been back in his quarters less than half an hour after arrival.
Not that they looked like his quarters, of course. For one thing, his quarters had possessed a visible floor when he had last seen them.
"Great Maker! What happened, Vir? Did an unexpected hurricane strike the station?" Londo picked his way carefully through the debris of his quarters to where Vir stood frozen, suitcase in hand. "What are you doing?"
"Londo! You're back early! I thought you were still on Homeworld. What happened? Did something go wrong with the treaty?"
"No, no, nothing like that. The new Minister for Agriculture appears to be, how do you say it, one of those toys for human children, you put your fingers in it -"
"A hand puppet?" Vir hazarded.
"Yes, yes, a hand puppet - one for his mother-in-law. It was really quite a spectacle Vir, you would have enjoyed it: she spoke not a word, and yet the Minister said precisely what she would have wished him to, down to all the usual rounds of flattery and requests for favours. She is sharp, that one." Londo smiled, showing his teeth. "I like her. She reminds me of my late great aunt Lannia. A veritable harridan when crossed, she almost turned House Mollari into a matriarchy - well, anyway, she has seen the inevitability of the treaty and has persuaded her son-in-law likewise. It is, as Mr Garibaldi is so fond of saying, a done deal. So I thought to come back here with the early shuttle and finalise the arrangements on this end - but how am I to finalise anything when I cannot even locate the floor? Tell me, Vir, what happened to my quarters? I do not recall leaving the entirety of my belongings in the reception room."
Vir's face briefly blanked, as if the reason for it all had escaped him. Londo had the unfortunate suspicion that he had perhaps not escaped his nine-hour flight unscathed. Had he begun to reek of Narn, perhaps? Had his crest drooped? It really did not bear thinking about.
"Fumigation," Vir said at last and - yes, there it was, Londo caught it that time. Vir's ability to control his facial expressions had really improved remarkably during his stay, but there was something about the curl of his lip, quickly stilled -
The boy was amused.
Oh, yes, this is what the universe has seen fit to reduce him to. Emperor-to-be, and he was standing in the wreckage of his quarters, smelling of Narn, while his aide tried not to laugh at his exasperation.
Strangely, the thought did not rankle as much as Londo had once thought it might. "Vir?" he prompted again, shifting from foot to foot. His side ached; G'Kar had dug his horrible sharp elbow into it the entire way back, and had quite simply refused to remove his gauntlet. Honestly, travelling in gauntlet and armour - it would hardly save them from a mad bomber, would it? No, it was all a design to vex him, he was sure of it. Probably thought up in consultation with Timov, thinking on it, for she had been strangely there upon his last visit to the Royal Court, scowling at decorators and generally being far too visible for Londo's liking. He had been forced to ask her to put herself out of sight and desist from making herself quite such a visible target.
That had not gone over terribly well.
"There were some problems with some sort of Drazi insects - they must have come aboard during a supply shipment - and they're all across the level," Vir offered at last. "Maintenance has been working their way through -"
"Yes, yes," Londo waved this all away. Horrible scuttling things; bah, would he never be free of them? "But why is everything out here? Great Maker, this is a mess! I have a bed left, I presume?"
"Well," Vir wrung his hands and ducked his head, as if he could escape Londo's glare by making himself too small to see. "Um, the thing is, ye-no."
"No? Was that delivered to G'Kar's quarters, perhaps, or the Zocalo?"
"No -" he looked slightly pole-axed, as if the idea had not even occurred to him and he suspected that it should have -" should it?" At Londo's thunderous expression, he hurried on, dissuaded from the idea. "Well, everything in the bedroom is still slightly, er, toxic -"
"Toxic!" I need a drink, Londo thought, and not even the memory of Timov and G'Kar scowling at him over the dinner table could dissuade him from it. They were in league, those two; he was sure of it. The Great Maker have mercy on him, for they would not.
"Only a little! And I took out anything you might need for carrying out affairs of state." Vir indicated the pile of clothing. "And your itinerary," he said, as an afterthought. Highlighted at the very top was his wife's hastily-arranged visit. Beside it, in G'Kar's nearly illegible scrawl, was written, "opera is not my only recourse."
"I think - I need a drink." Londo sighed and sat down heavily. He then winced, got up, upended the chair, righted it and sat down again. "A large drink."
*