Stark

Probably unnecessary, but I did it anyway because I love any excuse to babble about anything Farscape related.

( This is Stark. He glows. Also he loves cupcakes. The end. )

( This is me. I also love cupcakes but I do not glow. )

Time passed on Moya. A few solar days at most while they traveled back to the water planet. Stark was still distraught, not paying attention to the passage of time or to anything else. He didn't notice the comings and goings of anyone else on Moya. He wandered the corridors occasionally, ignoring his comms and the DRDs and most attempts at interaction and the reports of developments in the war between the Scarrans and the Peacekeepers. The war that might have been averted already if only he had better prepared Yondalao or if only he were able to do what it was everyone wanted him to do and deliver Yondalao's spiritual remains to the other Eidelons. "I'm not worthy. I'm not worthy. I'm not worthy. Can't do that, can't do that. I can't do it." Repetitions along those lines were all he said when he bothered to speak at all. Sometimes, even when he did speak, he was barely understandable. The others weren't sure if he was talking to himself or a voice in his head. It amounted to much the same thing as far as they were concerned, and Stark babbling was at least somewhat normal, even if the rest of his behavior wasn't.

He would have spoken to the others if he could have. He wanted to. If he were able to, he would have told them everything. He would have tried to explain what was going inside his head. He would have tried to tell them all that what was left of Yondalao was nearly unbearable to be carrying around inside of himself but that he was trying. And yes, he was occasionally carrying on conversations with the voices in his head but if they had half as many pieces of others inside of them as he did his shipmates would do the same thing. Some of the voices were helpful. Others, particularly those acquired when he had lived among Scarrans and Peacekeepers, were not. And some of them were just loud and distracting. And one, the one voice he wanted most of all, was nearly silent and that only made matters worse. If Zhaan were here, even just in his head, it would be easier. He knew that. If Zhaan were here the others would never have forced him into this situation in the first place. She wouldn't have allowed it. He knew that, too. Of course, the others knew nothing of all of this. All they knew was that something was wrong. Even if he had tried to explain, they wouldn't have understood. None of them were Stykera. None of them had had the the remains of a spiritual leader, and with them one of the last hopes for peace in this end of the galaxy, forced into their heads.

"I don't know how," was his last quietly desperate statement before he stopped speaking entirely.

[Poor wee Banik. We're almost at the end though. Hopefully.]

Two cycles ago, a very lost Banik had arrived on this island, though he still wasn't sure how, and gone to school. School was over now. The Banik was still just as lost, but he'd found a home for a while. But now it was time to leave. He'd dragged this out enough.

He'd taken a long and roundabout way to the causeway from the school. One last look at everything. His final stop was an abandoned shop in town. He had stood outside it for a long time, saying a goodbye he hadn't had the chance to say in person. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough, but it would have to do. He'd offered up one final quiet prayer, then headed to the causeway.

He had his bags. He had his cupcakes from Anders in one hand and his bracelets from Tori still on his wrist. And now he was at the end of the causeway and it was time to go. Setting down a bag for a moment, he reached up to unbuckle and remove his mask. Anyone (or any squirrels) watching would have seen the missing half of his face glowing as he took the last step away from Fandom.

**

And then, somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't home but might have been once, and some time later, there was a very lost Banik with 23 cupcakes and some tattered bags. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten back here, but he was glad that this, at least, had worked. And now there was only the very small matter of figuring out where "here" was and where any of the people he was looking for were. Minor details, comparatively.

Settling his mask back into position and buckling it, Stark set out in search of what he was looking for. Hopefully he'd find out what that was before he found it.


[Establishy. Emo alien is officially off the island and back in SPAAAACE. *sniffles lots* He's a glowy plot device. Go with it! Goodbyes still available over here.]