Stark

The next morning (or what passed for morning on a Leviathan) found Stark still in Chiana’s quarters. They had continued drinking, and talking, for most of the night until exhaustion and inebriation got the best of both of them.

They had talked about Rygel and how surprised they were when he had agreed, after encouragement, to Stark’s demand that he formally ensure the freedom of everyone living within his empire. They had talked about who that red-eyed man could have been. They had talked about Jothee. And eventually they circled back around and they had talked more about D’Argo and Zhaan and Faye. Some of the talk was quiet, some was more like yelling, and some veered dangerously close to crying.

Chiana drifted off to sleep first. Stark had continued talking, at first because he hadn’t noticed and then because he just felt like he needed to keep getting words out even if there was nobody around to hear them. He talked to himself often enough and this was essentially the same thing. Then he’d stood up, too fast, sat back down immediately, and decided he’d slept worse places than this floor and just laid down right there. He slept better that night than he had in a long time in spite of his position. Maybe it was the raslak. Maybe it was feeling like he’d unburdened himself just a little. Maybe it was feeling like listening to Chiana might have helped her a little. Or maybe it was just knowing someone else was there.

“You’re on my floor,” Chiana said, peering blearily down at him from the edge of the bed. “Stark. Why are you on my floor?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Stark said, scrambling to his feet and stumbling a little as he did so. “I didn’t mean to. Well. I did. But I…it was hard to walk.”

“It’s a big bed, you idiot, you didn’t have to sleep on the floor.”

Stark just stared back at her.

“What?” she asked, flopping back down against the pillows.

“I’ll go,” he said quickly. “Sorry.”

“Bring me water when you come back,” Chiana said plaintively.

“I wasn’t…I can do that,” he said. He kicked an empty bottle as he turned, sending it spinning across the floor. “Sorry.”

Chiana was sitting cross-legged on the bed when he came back with water. “C’mere, you don’t have sit on the floor,” she said, patting the blanket to her right. She held out her hand for the water and drained half of the cup before saying any more. “Sit down."

Stark, not sure what else to do, sat as directed. “Does your head hurt?” His didn’t, at least not much yet, but he wasn’t sure how much of the raslak Chiana had actually consumed.

“Little bit. I’ve had worse,” Chiana said. “You really slept there all night?”

“I was tired,” Stark said with a small shrug. “And drunk. But…I slept better than I have. In a long time.”

“Good. You needed it. But I’m not buying you that many drinks every night,” Chiana warned.

“I’ll buy you some next time.” Stark offered hesitantly. “Unless the water counts?”

“Good try,” Chiana said before finishing her glass. “No.”

They sat there quietly for a few moments before Stark opened his mouth again. “You didn’t tell me your idea. Last night. You had an idea. You said. But you didn’t say what.”

( It's either a good idea or it's a horrible idea or maybe it's both. )

[NFB for distance. Could be open for contact after. Saddest alien might even be in a somewhat better mood.]

Rygel’s gambit had worked. The palace planet was unprotected after Bishan split his fleet to protect the two targets that Rygel’s new navy and the two prowlers had attacked. When Rygel’s forces turned their attention to capturing the Dominar’s castle the battle could hardly even be termed as such.

Scorpius had barely finished suggesting a strategic retreat when Rygel, accompanied by loyal members of the Order of the First burst into the throne room. “Lower your weapons,” he told the guards, “or be struck by ours. It matters little to me either way."

“Cousin!” Bishan tone was full of forced cheer. “It’s good to see you! I see you have decided to join me in–”

“Oh, shut up, Bishan!”

“Now see here, Rygel! Your time is long gone! It’s been 130 cycles and the people have forgotten about you! Now, I’m willing to perhaps give you an advisory position, but–”

The blow Rygel struck across his cousin’s face cut him off mid-sentence. “I think even D’Argo would’ve been proud of that one.”

( Who would have thought the space coup would actually be successful? )

[NFB for distance because Hyneria is still really far away. The saddest alien continues to have his phone for the moment. And with that we're done adapting the "The Beginning of the End of the Beginning" comics arc.]

Once they reached the transport pod and were safely off the planet and hopefully hidden in the Oort cloud from any searching ships, some members of the party were able to relax a tiny bit. Some people. Not Stark. There wasn’t room to pace so Stark was once again huddled in a corner, occasionally talking to himself, and twisting his hands together when he wasn’t nervously tugging at the buckle at his neck.

“Any luck getting Pilot on the phone?” Crichton asked.

“No response. Same as the last time you asked,” Jothee said, rolling his eyes. “We’re on a transport pod. You’d notice if we were getting a transmission!”

( Were things really any better after escaping the cell? )

[NFB for distance. NFI for still being somewhere extremely unsafe without a phone even if the saddest alien’s life sucks marginally less at this particular moment. Adapted from “The Beginning of the End of the Beginning: Yes, That’s Our Baby.”]

“We can’t overpower the guards if they never come back. We haven’t got any help from the outside that we know of. Maybe we can pick the locks?” Jothee suggested.

“I tried that already,” Chiana said. “That lock’s unpickable.”

“How do you know?”

“High-tech eyes, remember?” Chiana said, pointing to her right eye. “These locks were designed by a genius.”

“Thank you,” Rygel said, a tiny hint of smugness creeping into his tone. “I was the one who designed the locks. It’s hardly a surprise that my fahrbot cousin hasn’t upgraded in all this time.”

“The Dominar speaks! You haven’t said a word since you dumped your marjools.”

“What, pray tell is there to say” Rygel asked, resigned now. “It is over. I spent 130 cycles enduring the Peacekeepers and the Uncharted Territories and it was all for nothing.”

“Such are the risks, Dominar.” Everyone in the cell jumped at the sound of that familiar and unwelcome voice and then froze again as the cell door opened.

“No…” Rygel breathed out.

“It can’t be,” Jothee said.

“What the frell are you doing here?” Chiana asked, taking an involuntary step backward.

And Stark, breaking his self-imposed silence, let out a scream and flung himself toward the figure at the door. Jothee grabbed at one of his arms, pulling him back.

“No. No no nononono he can’t be here this isn’t right this is too much HOW IS HE HERE?”

( SOMEHOW SCORPIUS RETURNED )

[NFB for distance, NFI because of prison cells and life generally being extremely shitty for the saddest alien. Adapted mostly from “The Beginning of the End of the Beginning: Dungeons and Dominars.”]

“You’re awake,” Stark said softly. He was kneeling by Chiana’s side again. He had been since they were all tossed into this cell on the palace planet. That had given him something to focus on.

“So am I,” Jothee said with a groan.

“I couldn’t see you,” Stark said, turning so that he could. “You’re on the wrong side.”

“We’re all on the wrong side. And we’re all awake,” Rygel said dully. “Wonderful. We can enjoy the delightful accommodations my cousin has arranged for us.”

“I told you to get in the pod,” Jothee grumbled. “We might have made it.”

“They would have shot us down,” Rygel sighed.

“I did get shot down,” Chiana said, sitting up. “Or I feel like it. Where are we?”

“A cell. We’re always in cells. I’m always in cells,” Stark said.

“I can see that,” Chiana snapped. “But where?”

“They brought us to the royal planet. I’ve seen these dungeons before,” Rygel said. “Never from this angle. I never thought I would.”

Stark opened his mouth to say he hadn’t expected to be locked in a cell again either, thought better of it because he always worried it would happen again and because he knew it wasn’t going to help, and sat back against the wall and pulled his knees to his chest again. None of them spoke for a long time. What was there to say?

“Think we’ll end up like him?” Jothee asked eventually, nodding towards a skeleton in a corner.

Stark sighed. Of course there was a skeleton in a corner. And of course he’d noticed it immediately. He just hadn’t commented. Why wouldn’t there be remains in here? It was a dungeon and people died here and they were trapped and they might very well die here and why would their captors not choose to highlight that fact?

“If we’re lucky we’ll get cremated, right Ryg?” Chiana asked. “Rygel?”

“Hmm? Yes. Probably. I suppose.” Rygel didn’t turn to look at her. He wasn’t looking at anyone. He was staring blankly ahead.

“If we were lucky we wouldn’t be here,” Stark said without looking up. He was still sitting against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. “I’m not lucky. I’ve never been lucky. Should have known this would happen. That something would happen. Shouldn’t have come back. Shouldn’t have done anything. I knew...I told her. When she left. That I wouldn’t be fine. And I haven’t been, have I? Might not ever be fine again.”

“I’ve never seen Rygel like this,” Chiana said, keeping her voice low as she moved towards Jothee. “Stark I expected. Not Rygel. D’Argo would know what to do. I wish he was here.”

“I don’t,” Jothee said. “He wouldn’t even be able to sit up in here.”

“That supposed to be a joke? Not a very funny one,” Chiana snapped back.

“Wishing someone was here who isn’t isn’t helpful,” Jothee sighed. “For you or Stark or anyone else. We need to try and get out of here.”

That was, of course, when they heard the announcements being made to the entire Hynerian populace.

Attention people of Hyneria! This is your glorious Dominar speaking. It gives me great pleasure to tell you all that I, Dominar Bishan the First, the greatest leader in the glorious history of the glorious Hynerian empire, have just ended another attempt by malcontents and aliens to remove me from my rightful throne!

A filthy group of pewnkahs, led by a Luxan/Sebacean halfbreed abomination, a devious Nebari tralk, and a Banik slave, attempted a coup but they were unable to overcome the glorious forces of Hyneria.

“The frell does he think he is, calling you an abomination?” Chiana hissed.

“You don’t care he called you a tralk?” Jothee asked.

“Everyone does that,” Chiana scoffed. “I’m more insulted when they don’t. Wait, he’s still talking.”

The filthy pewnkah rebels will be tried and executed at sunset tomorrow in the central lake. Rotten fruits and vegetables will be sold at vendors in the city of Nai-Bishan throughout the next two solar days.

GLORY TO HYNERIA!

"We really need to try and get out of here," Jothee said. "Soon."

[NFB for distance. Saddest alien remains uncontactable because he’s in space in a prison cell and scheduled for execution. Because his life really frelling sucks at the moment. Adapted from "The Beginning of the End of the Beginning: Dungeons and Dominars."]

Moya had been taking a slow route through the edges of the Hynerian planetary system to reduce the chances of the ship (or any of her occupants) being recognized before they were ready. They were now approaching Tornaga, a planet Rygel said had been a popular port of call when he reigned. There were no other ships within range, which seemed odd for a planet known for tourists but Rygel had been deposed 130 cycles ago and things change. But once they were closer to the planet the reasoning became far too clear. From Moya’s bridge, her occupants could see debris everywhere. The remains of Hynerian ships were everywhere in the planet’s orbit and even from this distance it was clear the planet itself had suffered.

These were not recent deaths. Stark couldn’t feel anything, for which he was dimly grateful as he stood there staring and whispering prayers. It was far too late for him to do anything, for anyone to do anything, and prayers were all he had to offer.

( In which Moya's occupants stare at a destroyed planet and then deal with a creepy conversation involving Rygel and his wife. Both terrible things. )

[NFB for distance still because the saddest alien remains in space. Still has his phone though. Pulled in large part from the first Farscape comic, "The Beginning of the End of the Beginning: Return of the King."]

The portal had gotten Stark to where he meant to go and Chiana had arrived to retrieve him as promised once he commed to let her know he’d made it.

“You look like dren, Stark,” she told him cheerfully once they’d taken off. She had to start a conversation somehow, didn’t she?

“I feel like it,” he said quietly. He wasn’t certain, now that he was here, that leaving had been the correct choice. He had been certain before leaving that staying wasn’t. At least he was consistently conflicted.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” she asked, turning in her seat to get a better look at him. She could wait on teasing him further until later. He really didn’t seem up for it. “We’ve got time.”

“She told me she was leaving. She left. It hurt. It still hurts. I haven’t been sleeping well. Or much. Or eating well. Or much. Drinking, some. More of that than anything else.”

“We’ll get you some food,” Chiana promised. Maybe the teasing needed to be pushed back further than she thought. “And a bed. Pilot had the DRDs getting your old room ready for you, if you want it.”

“My quarters are fine. Anything is fine. I can sleep in here if I need to. I’ve slept worse places.”

“We’ve all slept worse places,” Chiana said mildly. “Now we don’t have to. You didn’t bring much with you.”

“The last time I came back I ended up in a cell and they took everything. No. That was the time before last. Last time we had a war. And we ended up in cells then too,” Stark said, looking down at his hands. His nails weren’t glowing. Maybe he should have gotten a color. It would have been something for the others to comment on, at least. “I didn’t bring things I didn’t need. Mostly clothes. My gun.” The gun was absolutely a necessity out here. And he’d left behind certain things he couldn’t bear to lose. He would be going back. Eventually. He hoped. “And there’s chocolate in the bag. For you and the others. If you want it.” He’d had the presence of mind to grab that before leaving.

“I won’t tell Rygel if you don’t,” Chiana said, grinning over at Stark.

The grin was not returned. He hadn’t smiled in weeks. “He can have it if he wants. I don’t need any.”

“He’s been preoccupied,” Chiana said with a snort. “His wife called. Said she’d get back in touch. Frog thinks he’s gonna take back his throne.”

That was enough to get Stark to look back up, interested. “He still has a wife? And…how does he think he’s going to do that?”

“Nobody frelling knows,” Chiana said. “Not like we’ve got an army. Maybe the wife’s got ideas? Guess we’ll find out.”

“I suppose we will,” he said, frowning. Stark had not come back to be involved in staging a coup but maybe watching someone else try was the sort of distraction he needed. Or maybe this would be a disaster. “I didn’t know I’d be coming into…that.”

“You didn’t think it was going to be quiet on Moya, did you?” Chiana asked with an incredulous expression. “Stark, you haven’t been gone that long.”

“I have,” he said, head down again. “Longer there than here. Time isn’t so fixed as you think.”

“Stark,” Chiana said, tapping the side of her head while giving a truly impressive amount of side-eye, “pretty sure my eyes and I know that better than most people.”

Stark flinched. Chiana’s eyes had been replaced after he had failed to do what needed to be done and she’d had to step in and slow things down. Of course she knew time wasn’t fixed. “Sorry,” he whispered, somehow managing to make himself look even smaller in his seat.

“Oh, do not start that round of apologies again,” Chiana warned. “You brought me to get fixed by that Diagnosan, I’m fine now, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Of course Stark’s first reaction was to apologize again but he bit it back and just nodded instead.

“So,” Chiana continued, “we got another arn or so before we get back to Moya. No more apologies. Figure out something else to pass the time.”

[NFB due to distance, obvs, but Stark did bring his phone with him to space and is contactable should anyone want to do that.]

It was absurd, Stark had decided, that cupcakes were apparently unique to Earth. He hadn't given up hope that someday he might find them but given the sheer number of commerce (and other) planets he'd been on in his lifetime he didn't think it likely.

Perhaps he could start a cupcake business out here in the Uncharteds. Of course, he'd have to learn how to actually bake them first. Maybe Anders could help with that. And there was the lack of chocolate to contend with as well. Anders probably couldn't do much about that. The chocolate ones were, after all, the best ones. Perhaps the chocolate deficiency that the rest of the universe suffered from was the reason that there were no cupcakes to be found.

And perhaps Stark had been spending too much time alone eating his seemingly never-ending supply of food cubes and daydreaming of cupcakes.

When he woke yesterday, Stark had let out a few half-hearted "frell!"s, then sighed and gone about his usual routine. Not that he had much of a routine at this point, but there was always upkeep to be done on the transport pod and consulting of maps and starcharts, and the ever-important missing of cupcakes while unenthusiastically nibbling on the seemingly endless supply of food cubes he'd mistakenly purchased on the last commerce planet he'd stopped at.

When he woke on the second solar day to find he was still a girl and had not returned to his usual shape while he slept the "oh, frell" was far more heartfelt than the previous day's. The flailing was far more pronounced as well.

"It always went away after just one day before," he growled to the empty transport pod. The only answer was a soft echo of his currently higher pitched voice, which was growing annoyingly familiar by now.

"It will go away again, won't it? I don't like this." He was rather attached to his proper shape and found being the wrong shape very distressing. Especially when things did not go back to normal when they were supposed to.

Perhaps he could at least share the misery. Or find out if this was happening to anyone else. Still happening to anyone else. Shaking his head (which had too much hair!), he turned his attention to the comms system.


[Open for calls with a mildly flaily alien, should anyone so desire.]

( In which the universe is almost destroyed but there's a mostly happy ending. )
Stark had had enough of all this and wanting nothing more than some peace, felt he could not stay. He made his goodbyes, murmured as many blessings as he knew over tiny D'Argo Sun Crichton, and took a transport pod, hoping to go back to another home. He would have stayed for Chiana's sake, but she didn't want his assistance or interference in her grief and he knew he wouldn't be of much assistance in any rebuilding efforts that might occur. Instead he would try to get back to the island. He had missed Fandom ever since he left, and now seemed a perfect time to return. He felt like he needed to be back there, for some reason, moreso than he had in quite a long time.

[So, that's PK Wars except for Stark's final scene because, I'm sorry, being forced to take someone's soul and knowledge into your head against your will and then watching the universe nearly destroyed does NOT EQUAL finding your own inner peace. Plus, think of all the glowy icons no longer usable if Stark stops glowing as he seems to at the end. Makes no sense to me, so I skip it.]