The Snake Pit by ChiMonkey (PG-13)

[lady-smith.livejournal.com]

I have 2 days and 4 recs left. Welcome to Spam-Land. Mind the power-crazed Stykera.

Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John/Chiana, Stark/Zhaan
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author Website: Unknown
Why this must be read:

From "Five Things" we go to a slightly more conventional AU, which manages to combine two different styles of AU seamlessly: the "change one event" style and the "familiar characters in a completely alternate setting" style. How is this done? By trapping them in an evil virtual reality they were able to escape in canon, of course!

I am a hopeless fan of the episode "John Quixote". I find that not nearly enough fic gets written featuring the living personification of Stark's Twisted Core of Evil I refer to as AvaStark. It's Stark as villian without affecting the innate nobility of the character. It's the dark side of someone who is fundamentally a pure if troubled soul. ChiMonkey writes him eerily well. This piece also features a set-up for John/Chiana I can not only stand but find myself liking a great deal: John and Chiana alone in a hostile environment, growing closer because they can't shake the feeling they're the only "real" people in this place.

Tyler paused in a doorway and placed a cautionary hand on Crichton's chest, keeping him back. There was shouting coming from the other room. Crichton leaned forward anyway to see what the fuss was, and practically did a double-take. It was a large space, probably some sort of common room, with patients decorating it like flannel debris. The commotion was being caused by a rather extraordinary figure, a girl wearing a loose gown and pajamas similar to Crichton's own. What was extraordinary about her was her complexion. Her skin was a pale gray that looked as though it had never been touched by the sun. Dark circles under, over, practically all around her eyes gave her a haggard, almost wraith-like appearance, which was only accentuated by a spiky shock of bone white hair. She was screaming and throwing a checker board at a redheaded nurse.

"I told you, I won't take them!" she shrieked, and pieces of plastic bounced across the room.

"You have to take your meds," the exasperated nurse whined with a slight Australian accent. She was holding a paper cup with three colored pills rattling inside, but the pale girl slapped the hand with the cup and sent the contents flying.

Crichton's mouth twitched downward in thoughtful appraisal. "Rebellious," he murmured approvingly.

"You have no idea," sighed Grace. "That's Rhiannon. Local wild child."

"Fleetwood Mac fans. What's she in for?" Crichton rubbed his eyes. Fleetwood Mac. Song lyrics. That he remembered. Listening to the song on the radio in his beat up pickup truck.

"Criminally insane. They say she killed her brother. Went totally nutters and stabbed him forty times with a butcher knife. They say that's when her hair turned."

"They say. What about her skin?"

"I dunno, mate. It's a skin condition, got some kind of name fourteen syllables long. Harve said it's a side effect, that it means her mom was pretty heavy into the drug scene while she was pregnant. Can't say if that's true or not, I'm just an orderly here."

Crichton's next question halted in his throat as the girl's rage suddenly cut off. He looked back to see Thorpe pushing her back down into her chair, a single cold hand on her shoulder. The redhead had retreated gratefully behind him, looking somewhat overwhelmed.

"Is there some kind of problem here, Rhiannon?" he crooned.

"N-no," she quavered. Then she gulped and closed her eyes, girding herself. "Yes. I don't...I don't need any medication today. I feel fine. Really."

"Come now," he said reasonably, in an almost sing-song voice. "We both know that your prescription says you have to take your medication every day. No exceptions. Otherwise you might do something else you'll regret."

Her shoulder sank under his weight, and she sucked in her lip as his strong bony fingers dug into her skin like talons. Her eyes watered and she gave a very small nod. "Something I'll regret. Something...else." She wilted, and this time accepted the cup from the nurse without complaint.

Thorpe smiled and released her shoulder. "Very good." He turned to the nurse. "If she gives you any more trouble, Julie, let me know."

In the doorway, Crichton felt rage building in his chest, and his neck tightened as he physically bit down on it to keep it from spewing out of his mouth. "That Thorpe guy, he's a real bastard isn't he. Strikes me as the type that enjoys his work just a little too much."

Grace shrugged. "He gets the job done, mate. In a place like this, that's all that really matters."

Go, take your meds, and don't forget to tip your orderly.

The Snake Pit

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Forgive me for getting sidetracked by this detail, but do American's actually say "nutters"? And if not Americans, then who? Whence comes this word?

[lady-smith.livejournal.com]

Americans, to my knowlegde, do NOT use the phrase. I beleive it's British in origin, and used widly by Australians and to a lesser extent by Canadians (at least, *I* use it). Since this mythical Sanitarium in John's head is supposed to be situated in Australia, or he's at least pegged "Tyler Grace" with an Aussie accent (hence the use of "Mate"), Grace's use of "nutters" isn't a breach of dialect.