Stark

It was there last day on Moya, for now, and Stark was giving Summer a more thorough tour of the ship which was ending now. They'd gone back to Pilot's Den, looked in the maintenance bay, seen some of the nearly invisible scars from the fire (and Stark had stood silently for a long moment with his hand on Moya's bulkhead there), and now they had reached the final planned location.

"This is my favorite place on the ship," he said as they stopped outside a door. "It's...you'll see. A very good place to just sit. It's beautiful and it's quiet and none of us come here very often. It's peaceful. Should we go in?"

That was the whole point of being outside this particular door, but Stark was still Stark. He was nervous even if this trip had gone better than he ever could have hoped.

[For Stark's very favorite person, NFB for distance, there are no laws preventing calls and texts because that would be really weird]

Stark had been fretting about this trip for days but it was too late for fretting now. Not that had ever stopped him before...

They'd stocked Summer's ship with plenty of chocolate and other snacks to deliver to Chiana and the others. Stark had worried about that and about what clothes they ought to be bringing and if they needed to bring gifts besides food. It was too late now to change anything though. They had taken off from Fandom and gone through a portal to Stark's version of Hynerian space. Both the Royal Planet and Moya were in sight.

"There!" he said, face lighting up in the metaphorical sense rather than the literal one as he pointed to the Leviathan now visible. "She's there and she's beautiful. I should call Pilot but he's probably already seen us. Or Moya sensed us. Perhaps both. I wonder if they're waiting."

He paused, looking over at Summer. "Are you ready?" Sure, Stark was far more likely to not be ready for the next few days but he could still ask.


[For the gently modded un-dibsed ginger flying the pink spaceship, obvs, and NFB for distance]

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.]

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.]

Once aboard the Scarran ship, Stark and the others were led into a detention area and scanned for weapons. There were rather a lot of those amongst this group.

( And then more unpleasantness )

[In just under the wire. Whee.]