odditycollector (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
odditycollector) wrote2010-06-13 09:57 pm
odditycollector) wrote2010-06-13 09:57 pm
Entry tags:
Songs Written in Stardust
I've committed a Farscape/Sandman crossover. I believe that's the first sign of being doomed...
Songs Written in Stardust
Miss Moya was a spaceship, the spaceship had a crash. Miss Moya went to heaven, but Johnny went to--
"You're frightened," says the hooded figure. It's not a question, or even an observation, but simply a dispassionate description of what is.
"I am," says Zhaan, careful not to look at his eyes. "I'm only a tenth level Pa'u, but even a tenth level Pa'u can see some of the truth of things." Her gaze falls to the data crystal chained around his wrist; its glow lightens the skin on his hand to cyan. "And knowing is a heavy thing."
"Yes," states the figure, an acknowledgement rather than an agreement. And Zhaan wonders if a more compassionate Pa'u than she might offer to share what weight she could, even if it would be disrespectful, even if it would destroy them both.
--Hello, Operator, give me planet Earth. And if you disconnect me I will kick you where it--
The plump, golden hued Hynerian moves a hand towards the sceptre, and Rygel shouts, "Stay away from my things!"
The Hynerian's eyebrows raise in amusement. "This trinket? It's nothing but a placeholder. A reminder of your true stomach's desire."
"Get your hands off it." Rygel repeats. "It's mine."
"Perhaps that's so, little Dominar" - and Rygel closes his eyes at the title, breathes it in like he can taste the cheering crowds, the banquets in his honor, the glow through his palace window of the moon that shares his name. Everything stolen from him. Everything he will get back. "Just like you are *mine*."
--Hertz and ohms and hydrogen, so don't cut the wrong wire. Your friends are all here waiting to die painfully in--
He's large, even for a Luxan, but his warrior's tattoos have faded. He tells D'Argo stories of gold-purple crops growing into the distance, of the soft texture of fertile ground sifting through his fingers, of muscles rolling across his back and bawdy harvest songs.
"But you kept your weapon," D'Argo says, nodding to his sword.
"Aye." He smiles wider, and D'Argo sees a flash of who he once was, cities burning in his shadow. "You can always stop being what you are, but to stop being what you were... that's the trouble."
--Fire up the engines, push the pedal to the gas. And when the screaming starts that's when you start to move your---
Pilot does not miss the pain he'd endured for so many cycles, but (he deserved it) it had been a useful as a place to hide unpleasant memories, to store ideas he didn't want to explore. Without it, his mind feels empty and disorganized, his guilt distracting, his emotions raw in a way that even Moya's presence can't (shouldn't have to) help him adjust to.
And there's an unwelcome thing watching from his mind, but when he tries to think about something *else*, each thought level is a reflection of a creature old and twisted and rooted in his soul deeper than he'll ever be in Moya's. Pilot pushes it away as much as he's able, layering his mind over it like knots on a rope reaching to the stars, but it's a rope he can't climb. There's no escape, (never any escape) because no matter how far he runs, he must bring himself along.
--Ask me no more questions, you've been all through my mind. There's nothing there but used up lies and secrets left--
Aeryn keeps her gaze locked on the viewport. "I forget sometimes," she says, without turning around. "I'm trying to forget."
"What's that?" asks a kind voice, and Aeryn closes her eyes, even to the stars.
"How beautiful you are."
--Behind the gold corona, you'll find a bright blue swirl. Poor Johnny pressed his nose too close and fell into its--
In John's mind, Harvey is sitting cross-legged next to the swingset from John's elementary school. He's playing a pattycake game with an apparently teenaged girl John doesn't recognize from his memories. Her hair sways orange and pink above her head, and her voice echoes school-girl high over his thoughts.
"Won't you join us, John?" Harvey asks. "She's such good company."
--Whirl down the projector, it's time to end this show. Kiss the girl before you leave, and that is all I know!
And what a Leviathan may dream, it is not given even to her Pilot to share. But as Moya passes through his kingdom, the Dream Lord smiles.
--And that is all I know, know, know, know, know!
Songs Written in Stardust
Miss Moya was a spaceship, the spaceship had a crash. Miss Moya went to heaven, but Johnny went to--
"You're frightened," says the hooded figure. It's not a question, or even an observation, but simply a dispassionate description of what is.
"I am," says Zhaan, careful not to look at his eyes. "I'm only a tenth level Pa'u, but even a tenth level Pa'u can see some of the truth of things." Her gaze falls to the data crystal chained around his wrist; its glow lightens the skin on his hand to cyan. "And knowing is a heavy thing."
"Yes," states the figure, an acknowledgement rather than an agreement. And Zhaan wonders if a more compassionate Pa'u than she might offer to share what weight she could, even if it would be disrespectful, even if it would destroy them both.
--Hello, Operator, give me planet Earth. And if you disconnect me I will kick you where it--
The plump, golden hued Hynerian moves a hand towards the sceptre, and Rygel shouts, "Stay away from my things!"
The Hynerian's eyebrows raise in amusement. "This trinket? It's nothing but a placeholder. A reminder of your true stomach's desire."
"Get your hands off it." Rygel repeats. "It's mine."
"Perhaps that's so, little Dominar" - and Rygel closes his eyes at the title, breathes it in like he can taste the cheering crowds, the banquets in his honor, the glow through his palace window of the moon that shares his name. Everything stolen from him. Everything he will get back. "Just like you are *mine*."
--Hertz and ohms and hydrogen, so don't cut the wrong wire. Your friends are all here waiting to die painfully in--
He's large, even for a Luxan, but his warrior's tattoos have faded. He tells D'Argo stories of gold-purple crops growing into the distance, of the soft texture of fertile ground sifting through his fingers, of muscles rolling across his back and bawdy harvest songs.
"But you kept your weapon," D'Argo says, nodding to his sword.
"Aye." He smiles wider, and D'Argo sees a flash of who he once was, cities burning in his shadow. "You can always stop being what you are, but to stop being what you were... that's the trouble."
--Fire up the engines, push the pedal to the gas. And when the screaming starts that's when you start to move your---
Pilot does not miss the pain he'd endured for so many cycles, but (he deserved it) it had been a useful as a place to hide unpleasant memories, to store ideas he didn't want to explore. Without it, his mind feels empty and disorganized, his guilt distracting, his emotions raw in a way that even Moya's presence can't (shouldn't have to) help him adjust to.
And there's an unwelcome thing watching from his mind, but when he tries to think about something *else*, each thought level is a reflection of a creature old and twisted and rooted in his soul deeper than he'll ever be in Moya's. Pilot pushes it away as much as he's able, layering his mind over it like knots on a rope reaching to the stars, but it's a rope he can't climb. There's no escape, (never any escape) because no matter how far he runs, he must bring himself along.
--Ask me no more questions, you've been all through my mind. There's nothing there but used up lies and secrets left--
Aeryn keeps her gaze locked on the viewport. "I forget sometimes," she says, without turning around. "I'm trying to forget."
"What's that?" asks a kind voice, and Aeryn closes her eyes, even to the stars.
"How beautiful you are."
--Behind the gold corona, you'll find a bright blue swirl. Poor Johnny pressed his nose too close and fell into its--
In John's mind, Harvey is sitting cross-legged next to the swingset from John's elementary school. He's playing a pattycake game with an apparently teenaged girl John doesn't recognize from his memories. Her hair sways orange and pink above her head, and her voice echoes school-girl high over his thoughts.
"Won't you join us, John?" Harvey asks. "She's such good company."
--Whirl down the projector, it's time to end this show. Kiss the girl before you leave, and that is all I know!
And what a Leviathan may dream, it is not given even to her Pilot to share. But as Moya passes through his kingdom, the Dream Lord smiles.
--And that is all I know, know, know, know, know!
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The Endless made me *ache,* but that is what they are for when you get right down to it. Oh, Rygel, of *course.* Oh, *Pilot.* This is a series of revelations of things I half-knew, crystallized into truth.
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Yay! I never learned many clapping games, but that's one that stuck. ('Course, we didn't sing *this* variant.)
The Endless made me *ache,* but that is what they are for when you get right down to it.
Yeah, I can never bring myself to write *happy* stories with them. There's no point to them, when they're alone, and their narrative gravity is too large to fit into a mortal's story without *becoming* the story.
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