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On a nice, safe, uninhabited water planet, somewhere in space
Previously, on Farscape, there was a nice safe water planet.
Except, of course, it wasn't safe at all. But since when was anywhere in the uni-(or multi-)verse safe?
At first, Stark moped around the ship, as Stark was prone to doing. Fortunately for the others, at least he was quietly moping for the most part. "Not moping," he found himself muttering to nobody in particular once. "Emo. Learned it at school." The comment went unheard, which was probably for the best.
He tried to avoid Chiana. Every time he saw her he was struck with an overwhelming urge to apologize. She didn't want to hear it, and made that abundantly clear after the first, second, and even seventeenth times Stark said he was sorry. Being Stark, that didn't stop him from making an eighteenth attempt at an apology, or twenty-fourth. That's when he started really trying to make sure he didn't see her for a while. Her or D'Argo, who had made some very convincing and compelling threats.
It went on like that for a time.
And then Crichton and Aeryn went out in the boat together. Stark wondered briefly where the boat came from before deciding it was unimportant. What was important was that he had decided he could manage not to apologize long enough to watch, along with the others, and see what the pair were up to.
There was a ring, a proposal, there was shouting, D'Argo and Rygel narrating it all (sometimes even correctly) for Chiana's benefit. Then the ship came. And then there was yelling from inside Moya, a kiss, a shot fired from the ship directly at the occupants of the boat, and there was screaming within Moya and it hurt to hear. Outside, on the water, the boat rocked gently, its occupants reduced to nothing more than tiny, tiny pieces and a ring resting on them.
Stark went very still, only his mouth moving as he whispered frantic prayers for the dead before he stopped suddenly, mid-word. He was a Stykera. He knew death. And this...this wasn't right. This wasn't death, but it certainly wasn't life either. In-between, he knew, was sometimes worst of all.
[So that's a spoiler-tastic recap of the last few minutes of season 4. This is how David Kemper, magnificent bastard that he is, left us hanging with only a "to be continued" to cling desperately to. And for once I'm not craving cupcakes as I write one of these posts.]
Except, of course, it wasn't safe at all. But since when was anywhere in the uni-(or multi-)verse safe?
At first, Stark moped around the ship, as Stark was prone to doing. Fortunately for the others, at least he was quietly moping for the most part. "Not moping," he found himself muttering to nobody in particular once. "Emo. Learned it at school." The comment went unheard, which was probably for the best.
He tried to avoid Chiana. Every time he saw her he was struck with an overwhelming urge to apologize. She didn't want to hear it, and made that abundantly clear after the first, second, and even seventeenth times Stark said he was sorry. Being Stark, that didn't stop him from making an eighteenth attempt at an apology, or twenty-fourth. That's when he started really trying to make sure he didn't see her for a while. Her or D'Argo, who had made some very convincing and compelling threats.
It went on like that for a time.
And then Crichton and Aeryn went out in the boat together. Stark wondered briefly where the boat came from before deciding it was unimportant. What was important was that he had decided he could manage not to apologize long enough to watch, along with the others, and see what the pair were up to.
There was a ring, a proposal, there was shouting, D'Argo and Rygel narrating it all (sometimes even correctly) for Chiana's benefit. Then the ship came. And then there was yelling from inside Moya, a kiss, a shot fired from the ship directly at the occupants of the boat, and there was screaming within Moya and it hurt to hear. Outside, on the water, the boat rocked gently, its occupants reduced to nothing more than tiny, tiny pieces and a ring resting on them.
Stark went very still, only his mouth moving as he whispered frantic prayers for the dead before he stopped suddenly, mid-word. He was a Stykera. He knew death. And this...this wasn't right. This wasn't death, but it certainly wasn't life either. In-between, he knew, was sometimes worst of all.
[So that's a spoiler-tastic recap of the last few minutes of season 4. This is how David Kemper, magnificent bastard that he is, left us hanging with only a "to be continued" to cling desperately to. And for once I'm not craving cupcakes as I write one of these posts.]