stykera: (thumb)
There were no funny hats in space these days. Just a cramped transport pod with a Nebari, a Diagnosan, a Banik and a ... whatever it was Grunschlk was. Luckily, the trip back to the water planet wasn't all that long. It just felt that way.

To keep himself from sliding any further into insanity, Stark had been working on adjusting his comms. He was certain he could manage to make the comms connect to the Fandom alumni network with a little effort. Or, as it turned out, a lot of effort. A transport pod containing a drunk Diagnosan, his handler, and Chiana was not the best work environment for anyone, let alone someone as unstable as Stark so often was. But he was certain he could make it work.

He was certain he had made it work, actually, but he'd been certain of many other successes in the past that hadn't turned out to be successes at all. That hadn't stopped him before, and it didn't stop him now.

So while the pod made a brief stop on a commerce planet and Stark was left blissfully alone for a few microts, he very tentatively tried out his new and theoretically improved comms. Whether he'd be able to make contact with anyone wasn't clear, but he was going to say a hello into the ether and hope for the best.


[Farscape is 10 years old today. Woo! I decided to celebrate I would maybe let Stark actually interact with someone. Crazy, I know. But it just might work. If you've any desire to receive something like a phone call from an emo alien, now would be the time.]
stykera: (emo tear!)
Stark's room was packed up. Stark did not want his room to be packed up. Being packed up meant he was now left with an even emptier than normal room. He did not want that, either. That might have been why he kept unpacking and repacking one bag at a time. Or that might have been an excuse to stay in his room longer, in the hope that he would see people. Or it might have just been Stark being his not entirely sane self. It was hard to tell.

He was fairly certain that anyone who might care he was leaving knew that this was when he was doing so. He hoped so, at least. He wanted to be able to say goodbye, and any company would have the added benefit of perhaps distracting him for a few moments. He was tired of goodbyes. But not getting to say a goodbye at all was always worse. He knew that all too well. He would take the goodbyes over the alternative, but he'd rather not have to do either.





[Meant to get this up earlier, but work and life got in the way. Repeatedly. SP is everyone's friend. Really.]
stykera: (lost boy)
Stark had been even more scarce than usual for the past week or so. How he'd managed that was anyone's guess, but he'd done it somehow.

He still wasn't about to go out and look for company, but he had at least managed to get himself to the construction site this week, unlike last week. Not that he had talked to anyone, but he'd at least been there. And now he was back to hiding in his room, as he was prone to doing. At least the door was open, though only a tiny crack and that may have been unintentional.




[Sometimes I need to remind myself my characters are still alive. This is one of those times. Also, open if anyone feels inclined to poke at an emo alien.]
stykera: (thumb)
Having returned from his trip to LA with Molly, Stark was now back in his room. Still wearing the hat Molly had convinced him to buy (he'd decided against an animal hat, eventually), he was currently sitting on his bed.

He'd had fun, in spite of himself, even with a silly hat. The hat had even, he thought, helped distract from the mask. Not that the mask itself had even been that unusual out there. He had seen a lot of costumes and masks while out doing "tourist-y" things. And they'd done a lot. There were the Tar Pits and the Zoo (which made him miss Creature Languages classes) and the Botanical Gardens (which had threatened to make him emo again) and the Walk of Fame (which was just names on a sidewalk to him, but the people there had been fun to watch) and Grauman's Chinese Theater. And one day had been spent almost entirely watching the Barry Plodder at Wizarding School movies, which he'd been told weren't even all out yet, Fandom time.

There had been plenty of things to do that allowed him to aggressively ignore his issues of the past few weeks. He would have to find a way to thank Molly properly for that, and for giving him a chance to get off the island.

Of course, now his distraction was over and he was back here, trying not to lose his hold on himself again.


[Door's shut, post is open, alien is less emo than last week but we'll see how long that lasts]
stykera: (electromagnetic candy!)
There hadn't been any weetiny penguins in Stark's room when he left for his class in the morning. By the time he got back there, there were a few, perhaps refugees trying to escape the threat of being boiled in the common room. Over the course of the day, more had arrived. By now he had a whole flock waddling around the room and climbing on the furniture.

Stark thought this was wonderful. Weetiny penguins were almost as good as weetiny bunnies, even if they didn't appear to hug. The little penguin squeaks came very close to making up for that.

Stark was currently sitting in the middle of the room, watching the penguins as they frolicked. One penguin had managed to get itself onto his shoulder and was currently poking one flipper at his mask and squeaking curiously. The door was cracked upon, to allow for penguin traffic flow.



[Door and post are both open and eeeee penguins!]

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Stark

March 2012

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