DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE
Oct. 1st, 2009 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nymeria_dwDifferent Perspective
(a Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: the Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
Rating: PG
Setting: Season 4 - episode 10
Written for TerraFirma's 37th Starburst Challenge
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
I return to full awareness discovering that my vision is all but gone: the darkness is not complete, since I can still distinguish blurry shapes and lights inside the thick gray fog that surrounds me, but despite the firm conviction that it's only transitory, the present situation is hard to bear.
Because I hate being powerless: it brings back memories of youthful agony and helplessness, memories made tolerable only by the knowledge that through suffering I've learned endurance, perseverance, strength.
I will need them all now, to overcome this (temporary, it's only temporary…) blindness, and to put aside my annoyance at not having predicted such an outcome: when I ate the mollusks I foresaw some uncomfortable aftereffects, but this– this was unexpected.
I draw a deep breath, and the pungent reek of the regurgitated mollusk flesh assails my nostrils, so I scoot carefully back, to avoid stumbling over my own mess.
Well, Pilot's DRDs will clean it up. Before I can address my request to Moya's symbiote, I hear a faint noise coming from the corridor.
"Scorpius?" The concerned whisper is almost covered by the swish of the cell's grate opening, and getting up from the floor I smile encouragingly in the direction of the voice.
"Everything is fine, Sikozu. Come in, please."
"You don't look 'fine' to me!" Her precisely clipped tones barely mask her distress. "What–"
"Blindness," is my off-hand reply. "Nothing to be concerned about. It will resolve itself shortly." (Certain? No. Confident? Yes.) I start moving toward her voice and hit one of the pedestals where I placed the qatal shells, sending it crashing to the floor.
An irritated growl escapes my lips and she's there by my side, the exotic, spicy smell that is uniquely hers reaching me a bare microt before her hands on my arm guide me toward a nearby seat.
"Pilot," she raises her voice to engage the comms. "We need a few DRDs in Scorpius' cell to–"
"They are already underway, Sikozu." Is that smugness in Pilot's voice? There is no mistaking the satisfied snort coming from her, though, and I have to smile: she worships efficiency.
"Thank you, Pilot." Dismissing such trivial concerns from her mind, she turns to me: I don't have to see her intense stare to sense her scrutiny. "I came as soon as I could: we had to wait for arns before the antidote did its work. Why did you not call? Not all of us were…incapacitated."
"I lost consciousness for a while. Nothing I had not already anticipated."
"You took a great risk for–"
"It was a calculated one, my dear Sikozu."
"Nonetheless, I am very grateful." Her voice hardens. "Don't expect the same from the others, though."
"I can afford to wait for my…rewards. Patience. Patience is always the key, remember."
"Are you– completely blind?" A slight movement in the air near my face gives me a mental image of her hand darting forward and then quickly retreating. "Or do you just–"
"Not completely, no. It's more a case of clouded vision. I trust it will clear up soon."
"You. Trust." Someone must teach her to curb her trademark haughtiness. Not everyone can be as tolerant as I am. "I would trust a thorough examination better."
"Our latest…encounter with a healer, if we can grace that individual with such a title, did not dispose me favorably toward the category."
"Then you will have to settle for a lesser alternative." I wait for her to continue, although I already know what she means. "Noranti."
I try to stifle a resigned sigh, with little success.
"If Captain D'Argo had not insisted on throwing away that fascinating residue, I might know more but–"
"It will pass." I'm already tired of the old woman's incessant chatter. Not to mention her gleeful poking and prodding. "My physiology is graced by superb recuperative powers. It's only a matter of time."
"Of course it is! But meanwhile I would love to take this opportunity to study–"
"You will not!" My enraged snarl makes her step back with alarmed swiftness, helping me regain some personal space and removing the musty aroma that is Noranti's…well, signature, from close proximity with my nostrils. Although I'd never admit it, I am feeling a little queasy, and the old hag's stench is not helping.
Neither is the collection of herbs and other substances she has on display on the shelves: like the overpowering tang of dried trexhia flowers coming from my right, that does not match the lovely purple color I remember seeing in other occasions. She must have been stewing something when we came in, too – something which is now burning, neglected, and adds an unwanted note to the symphony of smells laying siege to my senses.
Getting to my feet, I move toward the exit of Noranti's lair, only to be stopped by Sikozu's hand on my arm.
"Scorpius, you can't move around unassisted!"
"Of course I can! The DRD Pilot provided can guide me anywhere I wish to go. This is a contained environment, my dear, and I am in no danger whatsoever." Not to mention that her protective hovering is becoming a little too much, endearing as it is. "Go attend to your duties."
"Very well." She's not satisfied, but she seems inclined to let go for now, and starts to move down the corridor. Yet I hear her steps falter, and I don't need sight to know she's stopped to look back at me. I smile and nod in her general direction until she resumes her course, the noise of her footfalls diminishing in the distance.
Where to, now?
While I debate whether to go back to the seclusion of my cell or to move toward the more frequented areas of the Leviathan, my stomach decides for me, growling softly to indicate it's in need of replenishment. Taking this as a sign that the mollusks' effects are indeed fading away, I address the patient DRD hovering at my feet.
"Central Chamber."
The little machine emits an enthusiastic chirp, and starts rolling down the curved corridor.
Following the squeal of its tiny wheels, I trace the same path with careful, measured steps.
Sightlessness prompts me to examine my surroundings through other senses, and the scientist in me is amazed when it considers the amount of information they are receiving: the background thrum that is typical of Leviathans, for example, is not as steady as it would seem and it waxes and wanes at irregular intervals.
The hand brushing against the wall, for additional balance and security, feels the warmth of the surface: this too varies in different places, as it does in all living beings. And there's this very faint scent I've never noticed before: I can't place it and it matches nothing I can think of, but it's pleasant, almost soothing.
Fascinating.
The DRD pitches its whistling a little louder, signaling a bend in the corridor: there is an opening before me, and distinctive food smells. Central Chamber.
Stepping inside the room, a hand in front of me to avoid unexpected obstacles, I stop when I hear a rustle of movement.
"Who's there?"
"What the yotz do you mean 'who's there?' Can't you see for yourself?" Even without the voice, the tone of the reply would be a dead giveaway.
"Unfortunately not, Dominar Rygel. I am suffering a…slight setback after my encounter with the qatal mollusks." Reaching for a chair I move it away from the table and sit down. "I am temporarily unable to…see for myself."
"Oh." The Hynerian seems at a loss for words. "And is that…er…all? No other symptoms or…strange sensations?"
"I am not linked to any of you anymore, if this is what worries you, Dominar." Addressing a knife-edge smile at Rygel, I am certain he's lowered his gaze guiltily. Self-serving creature!
"Are you by any chance partaking of a repast?"
"At long last, yes! They would not let me eat anything until the antidote had worked the bacteria out of us!" The Hynerian perks up considerably now that he's on more familiar territory. "Are you hungry?" he adds with a gruff attempt at politeness.
"I would not mind some of that krawdla. If that is what I'm smelling, of course!"
"It is. Just this once," from Rygel's direction comes the noise of tableware "I will forget that I am a Dominar and not a server. Here." A plate slides toward me, bumping against my hand. "Just don't expect me to feed you!"
"I can manage by myself, Your Highness. Thank you."
The krawdla is a bit rubbery, but it stays down, and I can feel energy levels raising. And my vision seems to be improving: the fog is less thick, the shapes less indistinct.
For a while the two of us are absorbed by the business of eating in something resembling companionable silence, until the noise of approaching feet and voices breaks it.
"Yo, Sparky! I see you've started already. You left anything for us?" Without waiting for the Hynerian's grumbled reply, John plops himself on the table next to me and I know he's scrutinizing me.
Still chewing on the food, I wait for his next move, while two other sets of steps proceed farther into the room: one is slow and deliberate, the other somewhat bouncy: Officer Sun and the Nebari.
"So it's true!" Something – John's hand, probably – moves back and forth in front of my face. "You're as blind as a mole…"
"Whatever a 'mole' is, I can assure you my condition is not permanent, John."
"You're not, you're not faking it. Right?" Chiana sits on my other side, and I can feel her warm breath as she puts her face close to mine.
"I don't think so, Pip. Sikozu was pretty upset about it…"
"Yeah, *she* would–" Satisfied by her scrutiny, she moves away from the table.
"What would be the point in faking blindness, Chiana?" As usual, Officer Sun cuts to the heart of the matter.
"Aeryn's right. And, well, I guess we owe you Scorp." John's discomfort in balancing gratitude and distrust is plain in his voice. Not that I expected his heartfelt thanks, of course.
"I did what was necessary, given the circumstances. I hope this will be an important step toward mutual trust, John." I smile broadly.
"Sure. Dream on!" He, too, gets away from my side, but not before I hear the uncertainty in his voice.
This is more than interesting…
I've always relied on heat signatures to gain a more thorough understanding of people I…study, but only now I realize that their voices give away just as much as their thermal readings.
Listening to their exchanges while they fix themselves a meal, I can read the interpersonal dynamics just as well – if not better – as I would if I were observing them.
Or maybe…maybe they are behaving more freely because they believe I cannot scan them, now that my vision is impaired. This temporary setback is turning out to be a marvelous opportunity for study. And leverage, of course. One must avail himself of every tool at his disposal.
Take Rygel, for example: he is the target of everyone's teasing about food consumption and greed, yet I can tell there is no animosity in the delivery. On the contrary, there is a definite current of grudging affection from all of them, and more so from the Nebari whom he seems to pounce on harder than on anyone else. I might have miscalculated slightly in my earlier assessment of the Hynerian, or of the young rogue…
And what about John? Or better, what about John and Aeryn Sun? The fascinating, complicated dance they are weaving around each other (and toward each other, and away from each other…), is made more complex by John's steady consumption of the old woman's concoctions. She has assured me that what she's feeding him will not impair his cognitive functions, but only help his emotional balance – well I don't care about *that*.
On the contrary, some unsteadiness in that field could even further my designs. In time.
For the moment, let him believe his secrets are safe… As he so delicately put it, dream on.
"People, Moya is ready for starburst!" Pilot's voice from the clamshell cuts into my thoughts and almost startles me.
"Is the new filter working, then?"
"Yes, Aeryn. We are both performing at peak efficiency again. Captain D'Argo is here with me and we just finished a systems check. Starburst in ten microts. Nine…eight…"
As Pilot continues with the countdown, I feel a strong vibration under the soles of my feet, reverberating through my entire body: it's not an unpleasant sensation, on the contrary it's quite energizing.
And that is not the only positive effect: the haze is clearing, colors and depth are coming back.
"…two…one…initiating starburst!"
A jolt, a sense of displacement and then of being caught by a gravity well. The impressions are too fleeting for deep observation, but they seem new and wondrous.
And over too quickly. Pity. It was…fun.
I find myself suddenly face to face (or I should say eye to eye) with Rygel: his nose is just a few denches from mine.
"You look more…focused!" his tone is accusatory.
"Yes, Dominar. My sight is improving by the microt." Let's test the waters, shall we? "I would love some more of that excellent krawdla, I'm certain it was a contributing factor to–"
"You're well enough, now. Get it yourself!" As he dashes away in a huff, I pretend not to hear John's barely repressed chuckle.
Yes. Back to normal.
(a Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: the Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
Rating: PG
Setting: Season 4 - episode 10
Written for TerraFirma's 37th Starburst Challenge
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*
I return to full awareness discovering that my vision is all but gone: the darkness is not complete, since I can still distinguish blurry shapes and lights inside the thick gray fog that surrounds me, but despite the firm conviction that it's only transitory, the present situation is hard to bear.
Because I hate being powerless: it brings back memories of youthful agony and helplessness, memories made tolerable only by the knowledge that through suffering I've learned endurance, perseverance, strength.
I will need them all now, to overcome this (temporary, it's only temporary…) blindness, and to put aside my annoyance at not having predicted such an outcome: when I ate the mollusks I foresaw some uncomfortable aftereffects, but this– this was unexpected.
I draw a deep breath, and the pungent reek of the regurgitated mollusk flesh assails my nostrils, so I scoot carefully back, to avoid stumbling over my own mess.
Well, Pilot's DRDs will clean it up. Before I can address my request to Moya's symbiote, I hear a faint noise coming from the corridor.
"Scorpius?" The concerned whisper is almost covered by the swish of the cell's grate opening, and getting up from the floor I smile encouragingly in the direction of the voice.
"Everything is fine, Sikozu. Come in, please."
"You don't look 'fine' to me!" Her precisely clipped tones barely mask her distress. "What–"
"Blindness," is my off-hand reply. "Nothing to be concerned about. It will resolve itself shortly." (Certain? No. Confident? Yes.) I start moving toward her voice and hit one of the pedestals where I placed the qatal shells, sending it crashing to the floor.
An irritated growl escapes my lips and she's there by my side, the exotic, spicy smell that is uniquely hers reaching me a bare microt before her hands on my arm guide me toward a nearby seat.
"Pilot," she raises her voice to engage the comms. "We need a few DRDs in Scorpius' cell to–"
"They are already underway, Sikozu." Is that smugness in Pilot's voice? There is no mistaking the satisfied snort coming from her, though, and I have to smile: she worships efficiency.
"Thank you, Pilot." Dismissing such trivial concerns from her mind, she turns to me: I don't have to see her intense stare to sense her scrutiny. "I came as soon as I could: we had to wait for arns before the antidote did its work. Why did you not call? Not all of us were…incapacitated."
"I lost consciousness for a while. Nothing I had not already anticipated."
"You took a great risk for–"
"It was a calculated one, my dear Sikozu."
"Nonetheless, I am very grateful." Her voice hardens. "Don't expect the same from the others, though."
"I can afford to wait for my…rewards. Patience. Patience is always the key, remember."
"Are you– completely blind?" A slight movement in the air near my face gives me a mental image of her hand darting forward and then quickly retreating. "Or do you just–"
"Not completely, no. It's more a case of clouded vision. I trust it will clear up soon."
"You. Trust." Someone must teach her to curb her trademark haughtiness. Not everyone can be as tolerant as I am. "I would trust a thorough examination better."
"Our latest…encounter with a healer, if we can grace that individual with such a title, did not dispose me favorably toward the category."
"Then you will have to settle for a lesser alternative." I wait for her to continue, although I already know what she means. "Noranti."
I try to stifle a resigned sigh, with little success.
"If Captain D'Argo had not insisted on throwing away that fascinating residue, I might know more but–"
"It will pass." I'm already tired of the old woman's incessant chatter. Not to mention her gleeful poking and prodding. "My physiology is graced by superb recuperative powers. It's only a matter of time."
"Of course it is! But meanwhile I would love to take this opportunity to study–"
"You will not!" My enraged snarl makes her step back with alarmed swiftness, helping me regain some personal space and removing the musty aroma that is Noranti's…well, signature, from close proximity with my nostrils. Although I'd never admit it, I am feeling a little queasy, and the old hag's stench is not helping.
Neither is the collection of herbs and other substances she has on display on the shelves: like the overpowering tang of dried trexhia flowers coming from my right, that does not match the lovely purple color I remember seeing in other occasions. She must have been stewing something when we came in, too – something which is now burning, neglected, and adds an unwanted note to the symphony of smells laying siege to my senses.
Getting to my feet, I move toward the exit of Noranti's lair, only to be stopped by Sikozu's hand on my arm.
"Scorpius, you can't move around unassisted!"
"Of course I can! The DRD Pilot provided can guide me anywhere I wish to go. This is a contained environment, my dear, and I am in no danger whatsoever." Not to mention that her protective hovering is becoming a little too much, endearing as it is. "Go attend to your duties."
"Very well." She's not satisfied, but she seems inclined to let go for now, and starts to move down the corridor. Yet I hear her steps falter, and I don't need sight to know she's stopped to look back at me. I smile and nod in her general direction until she resumes her course, the noise of her footfalls diminishing in the distance.
Where to, now?
While I debate whether to go back to the seclusion of my cell or to move toward the more frequented areas of the Leviathan, my stomach decides for me, growling softly to indicate it's in need of replenishment. Taking this as a sign that the mollusks' effects are indeed fading away, I address the patient DRD hovering at my feet.
"Central Chamber."
The little machine emits an enthusiastic chirp, and starts rolling down the curved corridor.
Following the squeal of its tiny wheels, I trace the same path with careful, measured steps.
Sightlessness prompts me to examine my surroundings through other senses, and the scientist in me is amazed when it considers the amount of information they are receiving: the background thrum that is typical of Leviathans, for example, is not as steady as it would seem and it waxes and wanes at irregular intervals.
The hand brushing against the wall, for additional balance and security, feels the warmth of the surface: this too varies in different places, as it does in all living beings. And there's this very faint scent I've never noticed before: I can't place it and it matches nothing I can think of, but it's pleasant, almost soothing.
Fascinating.
The DRD pitches its whistling a little louder, signaling a bend in the corridor: there is an opening before me, and distinctive food smells. Central Chamber.
Stepping inside the room, a hand in front of me to avoid unexpected obstacles, I stop when I hear a rustle of movement.
"Who's there?"
"What the yotz do you mean 'who's there?' Can't you see for yourself?" Even without the voice, the tone of the reply would be a dead giveaway.
"Unfortunately not, Dominar Rygel. I am suffering a…slight setback after my encounter with the qatal mollusks." Reaching for a chair I move it away from the table and sit down. "I am temporarily unable to…see for myself."
"Oh." The Hynerian seems at a loss for words. "And is that…er…all? No other symptoms or…strange sensations?"
"I am not linked to any of you anymore, if this is what worries you, Dominar." Addressing a knife-edge smile at Rygel, I am certain he's lowered his gaze guiltily. Self-serving creature!
"Are you by any chance partaking of a repast?"
"At long last, yes! They would not let me eat anything until the antidote had worked the bacteria out of us!" The Hynerian perks up considerably now that he's on more familiar territory. "Are you hungry?" he adds with a gruff attempt at politeness.
"I would not mind some of that krawdla. If that is what I'm smelling, of course!"
"It is. Just this once," from Rygel's direction comes the noise of tableware "I will forget that I am a Dominar and not a server. Here." A plate slides toward me, bumping against my hand. "Just don't expect me to feed you!"
"I can manage by myself, Your Highness. Thank you."
The krawdla is a bit rubbery, but it stays down, and I can feel energy levels raising. And my vision seems to be improving: the fog is less thick, the shapes less indistinct.
For a while the two of us are absorbed by the business of eating in something resembling companionable silence, until the noise of approaching feet and voices breaks it.
"Yo, Sparky! I see you've started already. You left anything for us?" Without waiting for the Hynerian's grumbled reply, John plops himself on the table next to me and I know he's scrutinizing me.
Still chewing on the food, I wait for his next move, while two other sets of steps proceed farther into the room: one is slow and deliberate, the other somewhat bouncy: Officer Sun and the Nebari.
"So it's true!" Something – John's hand, probably – moves back and forth in front of my face. "You're as blind as a mole…"
"Whatever a 'mole' is, I can assure you my condition is not permanent, John."
"You're not, you're not faking it. Right?" Chiana sits on my other side, and I can feel her warm breath as she puts her face close to mine.
"I don't think so, Pip. Sikozu was pretty upset about it…"
"Yeah, *she* would–" Satisfied by her scrutiny, she moves away from the table.
"What would be the point in faking blindness, Chiana?" As usual, Officer Sun cuts to the heart of the matter.
"Aeryn's right. And, well, I guess we owe you Scorp." John's discomfort in balancing gratitude and distrust is plain in his voice. Not that I expected his heartfelt thanks, of course.
"I did what was necessary, given the circumstances. I hope this will be an important step toward mutual trust, John." I smile broadly.
"Sure. Dream on!" He, too, gets away from my side, but not before I hear the uncertainty in his voice.
This is more than interesting…
I've always relied on heat signatures to gain a more thorough understanding of people I…study, but only now I realize that their voices give away just as much as their thermal readings.
Listening to their exchanges while they fix themselves a meal, I can read the interpersonal dynamics just as well – if not better – as I would if I were observing them.
Or maybe…maybe they are behaving more freely because they believe I cannot scan them, now that my vision is impaired. This temporary setback is turning out to be a marvelous opportunity for study. And leverage, of course. One must avail himself of every tool at his disposal.
Take Rygel, for example: he is the target of everyone's teasing about food consumption and greed, yet I can tell there is no animosity in the delivery. On the contrary, there is a definite current of grudging affection from all of them, and more so from the Nebari whom he seems to pounce on harder than on anyone else. I might have miscalculated slightly in my earlier assessment of the Hynerian, or of the young rogue…
And what about John? Or better, what about John and Aeryn Sun? The fascinating, complicated dance they are weaving around each other (and toward each other, and away from each other…), is made more complex by John's steady consumption of the old woman's concoctions. She has assured me that what she's feeding him will not impair his cognitive functions, but only help his emotional balance – well I don't care about *that*.
On the contrary, some unsteadiness in that field could even further my designs. In time.
For the moment, let him believe his secrets are safe… As he so delicately put it, dream on.
"People, Moya is ready for starburst!" Pilot's voice from the clamshell cuts into my thoughts and almost startles me.
"Is the new filter working, then?"
"Yes, Aeryn. We are both performing at peak efficiency again. Captain D'Argo is here with me and we just finished a systems check. Starburst in ten microts. Nine…eight…"
As Pilot continues with the countdown, I feel a strong vibration under the soles of my feet, reverberating through my entire body: it's not an unpleasant sensation, on the contrary it's quite energizing.
And that is not the only positive effect: the haze is clearing, colors and depth are coming back.
"…two…one…initiating starburst!"
A jolt, a sense of displacement and then of being caught by a gravity well. The impressions are too fleeting for deep observation, but they seem new and wondrous.
And over too quickly. Pity. It was…fun.
I find myself suddenly face to face (or I should say eye to eye) with Rygel: his nose is just a few denches from mine.
"You look more…focused!" his tone is accusatory.
"Yes, Dominar. My sight is improving by the microt." Let's test the waters, shall we? "I would love some more of that excellent krawdla, I'm certain it was a contributing factor to–"
"You're well enough, now. Get it yourself!" As he dashes away in a huff, I pretend not to hear John's barely repressed chuckle.
Yes. Back to normal.
