Stark

“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.]

The only reason Stark was not at a bar trying to drink his feelings away for the 4th night in a row was because Anakin had said he would be coming by tonight. He could, he reasoned, always head across the street or wander to the other bar later if he needed to. Or if Anakin didn't show.

Instead of drinking yet was standing awkwardly in his living room, watching the door with a serious expression on his face.

He'd had nothing but serious expressions on his face the entire week.

[For the Jedi mentioned above]

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.]

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.]

Stark still hadn't given up on talking to himself. It was easier than talking to other people at least. Not that he wouldn't talk, given the opportunity, he just wasn't up to seeking out company at the moment. Going out, however briefly, on Wednesday to do something other than work had clearly been a fluke of some kind.

So now he was back in his room. Or still in his room. Quietly arguing with himself while sitting in a corner, head against the wall. Someone passing by the room might have heard the occasional soft thud of a mask hitting a wall, if they were listening.



[Door's not open, post is. I'm around, even.]

Stark was still in his room, much to the surprise of, well, nobody. He was also still pacing and still talking to himself. Not constantly, but on and off as he had been since Monday. Not even Stark mid-breakdown could keep that up for days on end. Sometimes he was huddled in a corner of his room, being very still. Verys till except for the humming. He hums when he's nervous, sometimes. Not that he was nervous, exactly, but it was close enough.

He'd even slept a bit, though not much and not well. Of course, sleeping meant waking up and waking up meant facing reality. And sometimes Stark hated reality. This was one of those times. Freaking out being easier than dealing with anything, Stark was just going to continue freaking out. He'd had practice with this, after all.

Were he thinking clearly, Stark might have wondered at how easily he'd fallen back into this broken persona. He’d thought, once, that being here and being safe for so long might have eliminated that possibility. Sometime later this would occur to him and the realization would not be a pleasant one.

Hopefully, the pacing and the babbling and the humming weren't loud enough to bother anyone.

[Still crazy, whee. Also open for another hour or so.]