Like Fabio, only better...
For FSL challenge "I love, I love, I love..."
I admit I had a bit of a tough time after the collapse of the Peacekeepers. I mean, what is a dashingly attractive Peacekeeper lothario to do when the entirety of his life’s work becomes meaningless? I had several things I could have fallen back on - my wits, my charm, my intelligence, my innate gift for obsequiousness towards whomever happened to be the most powerful person in the room - but I chose to rely instead on my greatest asset. My looks. John Crichton’s home planet seemed to have a veritable smorgasbord of opportunities for beautiful people, so I began my search there. What I stumbled into turned out to be my true calling…
I got an agent, and tried out for a few things, but was constantly hampered by my inability to speak English. Frelling substandard cultures and their lack of translator microbes! I realized that what I needed to find was a gig where I could look beautiful, and not actually have to communicate with anyone. I needed to be the strong, and more importantly, SILENT, fulfillment of Earth women’s fantasies! I needed to be…
…a romance novel cover model! My agent landed me a job with Harlequin, and as soon as I walked into the shoot, I knew it was perfect. It was to be a Western story - and who could look better in chaps and spurs and a 10 gallon hat than yours truly?! I dare say, no one!
I don’t think I’m flattering myself to say that I had an innate gift for it. I suppose in all honesty I should disclose that I might have been helped along by the vial of heppel oil I stole from Commandant Cleavage (let’s not even get into what THAT entailed!) Whenever the women failed to swoon adequately, I’d just give them a little whiff of the stuff, and they’d melt into my arms. I’m on the cover of any number of your favorite romance novels - I’ve worn fangs, kilts, armor, camo, tuxedos - you name it. My books have a readership in the millions, and I like to think that all of those millions were lured in by the remarkably good looking man on the cover.
Eventually I grew weary of the backwater planet, and decided to take my talents elsewhere… But it pleases me to think that I’ve left the gift of my flawless six pack on these book covers for women to admire for cycles and cycles to come.
I admit I had a bit of a tough time after the collapse of the Peacekeepers. I mean, what is a dashingly attractive Peacekeeper lothario to do when the entirety of his life’s work becomes meaningless? I had several things I could have fallen back on - my wits, my charm, my intelligence, my innate gift for obsequiousness towards whomever happened to be the most powerful person in the room - but I chose to rely instead on my greatest asset. My looks. John Crichton’s home planet seemed to have a veritable smorgasbord of opportunities for beautiful people, so I began my search there. What I stumbled into turned out to be my true calling…
I got an agent, and tried out for a few things, but was constantly hampered by my inability to speak English. Frelling substandard cultures and their lack of translator microbes! I realized that what I needed to find was a gig where I could look beautiful, and not actually have to communicate with anyone. I needed to be the strong, and more importantly, SILENT, fulfillment of Earth women’s fantasies! I needed to be…
…a romance novel cover model! My agent landed me a job with Harlequin, and as soon as I walked into the shoot, I knew it was perfect. It was to be a Western story - and who could look better in chaps and spurs and a 10 gallon hat than yours truly?! I dare say, no one!
I don’t think I’m flattering myself to say that I had an innate gift for it. I suppose in all honesty I should disclose that I might have been helped along by the vial of heppel oil I stole from Commandant Cleavage (let’s not even get into what THAT entailed!) Whenever the women failed to swoon adequately, I’d just give them a little whiff of the stuff, and they’d melt into my arms. I’m on the cover of any number of your favorite romance novels - I’ve worn fangs, kilts, armor, camo, tuxedos - you name it. My books have a readership in the millions, and I like to think that all of those millions were lured in by the remarkably good looking man on the cover.
Eventually I grew weary of the backwater planet, and decided to take my talents elsewhere… But it pleases me to think that I’ve left the gift of my flawless six pack on these book covers for women to admire for cycles and cycles to come.