Stars (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
simplystars.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2005-01-08 12:02 pm
simplystars.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-01-08 12:02 pm
The Money-Changer's Tale by cofax (R)
Hey! Stars here, back again for a second trip behind the wheel. As before, please keep seatbelts fastened and tray tables stowed, 'cause I'll be reccing the gamut from tear-jerkers to the spew-worthy, and every now and then you might be thrown for a loop. :)
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John Crichton/Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
suelac
Author Website: Alchemy Mouldiwarps & Coprophagy
Why this must be read:
On DrumBae they tell a story about a woman who was looking for something, and a man who found something he was sure had been lost.
Cofax is one of the most distinguished writers in Farscape fandom, with a superb ability to draw alien worlds and species and create the most satisfying story... when she doesn't make you want to tear your hair out and throw things. But I've already rec'd that particular piece. *g*
This fic is a masterful example of storytelling at work, with storytelling as the device. And just when you think you know where it's going, there's a twist and a juicy tidbit to chew over and you realize that Cofax has you right where she wants you---hook, line, and sinker. So just settle back and enjoy the ride; in this case, it's the journey and the destination that make the trip so very worthwhile.
No previous experience with Farscape fandom is necessary to appreciate this fic, so if you're new to the series and characters, why not give it a read? I think you'll be more than glad that you did.
Lot 378 arrived in late spring, and she was trouble from the start. She fought Canterel, and he had to dose her more than once. She was so violent Jendle couldn't feed her by himself, and Canterel assigned two of his squad to stand by when Jendle opened the cell to replenish the food and remove the waste- bucket.
Jendle wondered why Canterel cared so much about Lot 378; other troublesome finds had been put down or sold off early. But 378 was a species Jendle had never seen before. She was remarkably ugly, her pale skin horribly exposed, without the soft purple fur that protected Jendle from the extremes of weather. Her small dark eyes were close together like a predator's, and she had a tail on her head instead of her hindquarters. Jendle felt sorry for her: he wondered if all her species were so unattractive, or if maybe she were deformed. His cousin Fredle had given birth to a pup with only three arms once: it had died shortly after birth, and Fredle had thrown the body into the river so it would not curse the family.
As the summer progressed, lot 378 began to suffer. She stopped struggling with the guards, she ate less and less, and red blotches began to appear on her face. It was a hot summer, and Jendle saw that when the cooling system stopped working 378 became very quiet. On the days when the power went out, 378 would sit on the floor by the vent, her eyes closed, panting.
Jendle could tell Canterel was getting worried. The buyers were behind schedule and the complex was filling up. Jendle spent more of his time feeding, watering, and cleaning up after the merchandise. He missed being able to watch the ships land from the hill behind the port.
On the hottest day of the summer the power failed entirely. Hours went by and even Jendle began to feel uncomfortable. When it was this hot he wanted to sit in the river, but there was no river and the merchandise had to be cared for.
Lot 376 was a Trimfeldian; Jendle carefully tipped over the bucket of distilled water and let it drain to the middle of the room. He then backed out slowly, his eyes fixed on 376's tentacles. Once 376 had tried to trip him, and it had taken days to get the smell out of his fur.
Two doors down, one of the guards was looking through the slot at 378. Jendle stood next to him, and tilted forward to look inside as well. 378 was in her usual spot on the floor by the vent, but this time she was lying down, stripped of her garments. Jendle grunted. The guard laughed. "Sebaceans. Dead soon." He added something else Jendle didn't understand, but he understood the amusement.
Dead? Canterel didn't like dead, and he might blame Jendle. Jendle switched his tail uneasily, but the guard stumped away down the hallway. Lot 378 wasn't dangerous anymore. The gate at the end of the hallway slammed as the guard went to join his fellows in a slindix game in the shade of the trees outside. It was cooler outside, with the breeze, and Canterel had gone to the port on business.
Jendle unlatched the door and edged it open. Lot 378 looked smaller on the floor, and her pale skin was blotchy all over. Her breathing was slow and heavy. Jendle looked up and down the hallway. No one would see him if he went into the cell and made sure she had enough water. If she died, Canterel might be angry. He didn't like to see Canterel angry.
Jendle stepped through the door, and at that moment, lot 378 rolled her head to the side and met his eyes. One hand motioned feebly, its claws scratching against the greenwood floor. She looked so ill, he was sure she could not harm him. And her eyes were so dark.
He lifted the bucket and crossed the floor, leaving the door ajar behind him. He was fit and strong and she could barely breathe. He would give her the water and food and go, and no one would know he'd come into the room.
Except he was wrong. She was lying down, and she was panting and unclothed; but she was not weak. As he crouched down with a beaker of water, she moved -- faster than he had thought possible. Her hands grabbed his ears and pulled his head down, while one leg jerked up. Crack went his forehead, and he fell sideways, spilling the bucket and the water on the floor.
Jendle squalled, and flung his arms around, but she was up and over him and his head hurt so much. He braced himself against the floor and struggled upward, but she got to the bucket before him. The green surface of the bucket cut a path across her pale outline as she swung it down hard once and then again.
And that's all Jendle had to tell Keshik. It took a long time, because he was terrified of Canterel. Canterel blamed the guards, of course, but if he'd ever found out there would have been a new purple rug on the wall of Billix's bar.
By now, of course, you need to know more of the story. "Who is she? Where'd she go?" You lean across the table, captured by the mystery.
But Keshik knows his audience, and knows better than most about supply and demand. He will tell you nothing more today, and leaves you with a promise to meet again tomorrow for more of the tale. The sunset outlines his bulky figure as he walks away through the emptying streets, jingling his change trays and singing something high-pitched and eerie that your microbes cannot translate.
The Money-Changer's Tale
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John Crichton/Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:
suelac Author Website: Alchemy Mouldiwarps & Coprophagy
Why this must be read:
On DrumBae they tell a story about a woman who was looking for something, and a man who found something he was sure had been lost.
Cofax is one of the most distinguished writers in Farscape fandom, with a superb ability to draw alien worlds and species and create the most satisfying story... when she doesn't make you want to tear your hair out and throw things. But I've already rec'd that particular piece. *g*
This fic is a masterful example of storytelling at work, with storytelling as the device. And just when you think you know where it's going, there's a twist and a juicy tidbit to chew over and you realize that Cofax has you right where she wants you---hook, line, and sinker. So just settle back and enjoy the ride; in this case, it's the journey and the destination that make the trip so very worthwhile.
No previous experience with Farscape fandom is necessary to appreciate this fic, so if you're new to the series and characters, why not give it a read? I think you'll be more than glad that you did.
Lot 378 arrived in late spring, and she was trouble from the start. She fought Canterel, and he had to dose her more than once. She was so violent Jendle couldn't feed her by himself, and Canterel assigned two of his squad to stand by when Jendle opened the cell to replenish the food and remove the waste- bucket.
Jendle wondered why Canterel cared so much about Lot 378; other troublesome finds had been put down or sold off early. But 378 was a species Jendle had never seen before. She was remarkably ugly, her pale skin horribly exposed, without the soft purple fur that protected Jendle from the extremes of weather. Her small dark eyes were close together like a predator's, and she had a tail on her head instead of her hindquarters. Jendle felt sorry for her: he wondered if all her species were so unattractive, or if maybe she were deformed. His cousin Fredle had given birth to a pup with only three arms once: it had died shortly after birth, and Fredle had thrown the body into the river so it would not curse the family.
As the summer progressed, lot 378 began to suffer. She stopped struggling with the guards, she ate less and less, and red blotches began to appear on her face. It was a hot summer, and Jendle saw that when the cooling system stopped working 378 became very quiet. On the days when the power went out, 378 would sit on the floor by the vent, her eyes closed, panting.
Jendle could tell Canterel was getting worried. The buyers were behind schedule and the complex was filling up. Jendle spent more of his time feeding, watering, and cleaning up after the merchandise. He missed being able to watch the ships land from the hill behind the port.
On the hottest day of the summer the power failed entirely. Hours went by and even Jendle began to feel uncomfortable. When it was this hot he wanted to sit in the river, but there was no river and the merchandise had to be cared for.
Lot 376 was a Trimfeldian; Jendle carefully tipped over the bucket of distilled water and let it drain to the middle of the room. He then backed out slowly, his eyes fixed on 376's tentacles. Once 376 had tried to trip him, and it had taken days to get the smell out of his fur.
Two doors down, one of the guards was looking through the slot at 378. Jendle stood next to him, and tilted forward to look inside as well. 378 was in her usual spot on the floor by the vent, but this time she was lying down, stripped of her garments. Jendle grunted. The guard laughed. "Sebaceans. Dead soon." He added something else Jendle didn't understand, but he understood the amusement.
Dead? Canterel didn't like dead, and he might blame Jendle. Jendle switched his tail uneasily, but the guard stumped away down the hallway. Lot 378 wasn't dangerous anymore. The gate at the end of the hallway slammed as the guard went to join his fellows in a slindix game in the shade of the trees outside. It was cooler outside, with the breeze, and Canterel had gone to the port on business.
Jendle unlatched the door and edged it open. Lot 378 looked smaller on the floor, and her pale skin was blotchy all over. Her breathing was slow and heavy. Jendle looked up and down the hallway. No one would see him if he went into the cell and made sure she had enough water. If she died, Canterel might be angry. He didn't like to see Canterel angry.
Jendle stepped through the door, and at that moment, lot 378 rolled her head to the side and met his eyes. One hand motioned feebly, its claws scratching against the greenwood floor. She looked so ill, he was sure she could not harm him. And her eyes were so dark.
He lifted the bucket and crossed the floor, leaving the door ajar behind him. He was fit and strong and she could barely breathe. He would give her the water and food and go, and no one would know he'd come into the room.
Except he was wrong. She was lying down, and she was panting and unclothed; but she was not weak. As he crouched down with a beaker of water, she moved -- faster than he had thought possible. Her hands grabbed his ears and pulled his head down, while one leg jerked up. Crack went his forehead, and he fell sideways, spilling the bucket and the water on the floor.
Jendle squalled, and flung his arms around, but she was up and over him and his head hurt so much. He braced himself against the floor and struggled upward, but she got to the bucket before him. The green surface of the bucket cut a path across her pale outline as she swung it down hard once and then again.
And that's all Jendle had to tell Keshik. It took a long time, because he was terrified of Canterel. Canterel blamed the guards, of course, but if he'd ever found out there would have been a new purple rug on the wall of Billix's bar.
By now, of course, you need to know more of the story. "Who is she? Where'd she go?" You lean across the table, captured by the mystery.
But Keshik knows his audience, and knows better than most about supply and demand. He will tell you nothing more today, and leaves you with a promise to meet again tomorrow for more of the tale. The sunset outlines his bulky figure as he walks away through the emptying streets, jingling his change trays and singing something high-pitched and eerie that your microbes cannot translate.
The Money-Changer's Tale