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crack_van2004-09-29 11:15 pm
simplystars.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-09-29 11:15 pm
Circle of 'Friends' by Kixxa (PG)
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John Crichton, D'Argo, Rygel, Crais
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kixxa
Author Website:kixxa_fics
Why this must be read:
Kixxa is Farscape fandom's acknowledged master of romp!fic, which can cause the unwary to unintentionally inhale, spew, or otherwise mishandle food and beverages while reading. This goofy and clever fic takes the notion of reality tv to another galaxy far, far away (no, not that one) and then twists it in the best Farscapean tradition. You'll laugh so hard you'll wake the dog from sound sleep, scatter cats in all directions, annoy the hell out of roommates, friends, and family...
"So," John says with an excess of enthusiasm, indicating the now thoroughly-shuffled cards. "The noble game of Klack. So, er, how do you play it?"
"What?"
"You've never-?"
"But, every child in the galaxy-!"
"Can't we play 'Snap' instead?"
"There are eighteen suits," Crais explains with exaggerated care. "All colour-coded. Pink tetrahedrons are warrior priests-"
"Red rhomboids are Luxans!" D'Argo interjects, "except when there's a Toozian beggar, then they're 'coddlers' and you can take the pot."
Crais takes up the conversation again. "Ovoids are, er...Ovoids as a matter of fact. A slave race that can throw a spanner in a 'coddling'. Pay particular attention to the 'flying krovid', they nullify an Ovoid, but a Toozian beggar with a noseflute will just about 'coddle' everything."
"And take the pot?" John asks anxiously.
Crais and D'Argo break into snickers - D'Argo bangs his hand down on the table, while Crais wipes at his eyes.
"What gave you that idea?" Rygel snorts, reaching for the cards and beginning to deal as he speaks. "It might be easier if you learn as you go."
"Yuh-huh," John replies, watching as the shiny cards angle with unerring accuracy into a small pile in front of him.
Only after Crais, D'Argo and Rygel have lifted their cards and are busy arranging them into suits does he do the same. He stares at the unfamiliar shapes, the crudely drawn aliens, the holographic symbols. "Rhomboids, eh?"
Crais tosses his cards to the table. "This is intolerable!" he rails, glaring at Crichton.
"What? Why?"
"If you have a rhomboid, then we're coddled already."
*
D'Argo raps the table like a spiritualist at a sance. "Klack!"
Crais puffs out his cheeks in concentration, then also raps the table. "Klack..."
Rygel rearranges the cards in his hand, pulls one out, then hesitates and slots it back into his hand. "Klack," he growls, stubby fingers beating a tattoo of annoyance upon the table.
All three faces turn expectantly to John. "Umm, yeah...What did you say about the Sardinian Disciples of Anthrax again?" he asks, fingers hovering uncertainly over his cards. "They're octagons, right?"
Crais sighs in frustration. "They're lavendar oblongs, and it's Zardinian Disciples of Anthrox! Frell you! Anthrox!"
"Yeah...Anthrax..." John looks up from his cards. "What's a vowel between...friends?"
The Dominar wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. "Crichton, are you going to wait for the end of Hezmana before you make a decision? As you yourself said, 'the sooner we cooperate'-"
"So, if this Anthrax guy's got one eye, and he's limping, and he's got a golden cup-"
"ONE EYE AND A GOLDEN CUP!" Crais roars, throwing his cards upon the table with so much force that some skitter to the floor. "We could've coddled two rounds ago!"
Circle of 'Friends'
Pairing: John Crichton, D'Argo, Rygel, Crais
Author on LJ:
kixxa Author Website:
kixxa_ficsWhy this must be read:
Kixxa is Farscape fandom's acknowledged master of romp!fic, which can cause the unwary to unintentionally inhale, spew, or otherwise mishandle food and beverages while reading. This goofy and clever fic takes the notion of reality tv to another galaxy far, far away (no, not that one) and then twists it in the best Farscapean tradition. You'll laugh so hard you'll wake the dog from sound sleep, scatter cats in all directions, annoy the hell out of roommates, friends, and family...
"So," John says with an excess of enthusiasm, indicating the now thoroughly-shuffled cards. "The noble game of Klack. So, er, how do you play it?"
"What?"
"You've never-?"
"But, every child in the galaxy-!"
"Can't we play 'Snap' instead?"
"There are eighteen suits," Crais explains with exaggerated care. "All colour-coded. Pink tetrahedrons are warrior priests-"
"Red rhomboids are Luxans!" D'Argo interjects, "except when there's a Toozian beggar, then they're 'coddlers' and you can take the pot."
Crais takes up the conversation again. "Ovoids are, er...Ovoids as a matter of fact. A slave race that can throw a spanner in a 'coddling'. Pay particular attention to the 'flying krovid', they nullify an Ovoid, but a Toozian beggar with a noseflute will just about 'coddle' everything."
"And take the pot?" John asks anxiously.
Crais and D'Argo break into snickers - D'Argo bangs his hand down on the table, while Crais wipes at his eyes.
"What gave you that idea?" Rygel snorts, reaching for the cards and beginning to deal as he speaks. "It might be easier if you learn as you go."
"Yuh-huh," John replies, watching as the shiny cards angle with unerring accuracy into a small pile in front of him.
Only after Crais, D'Argo and Rygel have lifted their cards and are busy arranging them into suits does he do the same. He stares at the unfamiliar shapes, the crudely drawn aliens, the holographic symbols. "Rhomboids, eh?"
Crais tosses his cards to the table. "This is intolerable!" he rails, glaring at Crichton.
"What? Why?"
"If you have a rhomboid, then we're coddled already."
*
D'Argo raps the table like a spiritualist at a sance. "Klack!"
Crais puffs out his cheeks in concentration, then also raps the table. "Klack..."
Rygel rearranges the cards in his hand, pulls one out, then hesitates and slots it back into his hand. "Klack," he growls, stubby fingers beating a tattoo of annoyance upon the table.
All three faces turn expectantly to John. "Umm, yeah...What did you say about the Sardinian Disciples of Anthrax again?" he asks, fingers hovering uncertainly over his cards. "They're octagons, right?"
Crais sighs in frustration. "They're lavendar oblongs, and it's Zardinian Disciples of Anthrox! Frell you! Anthrox!"
"Yeah...Anthrax..." John looks up from his cards. "What's a vowel between...friends?"
The Dominar wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. "Crichton, are you going to wait for the end of Hezmana before you make a decision? As you yourself said, 'the sooner we cooperate'-"
"So, if this Anthrax guy's got one eye, and he's limping, and he's got a golden cup-"
"ONE EYE AND A GOLDEN CUP!" Crais roars, throwing his cards upon the table with so much force that some skitter to the floor. "We could've coddled two rounds ago!"
Circle of 'Friends'