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Entry tags:
fic: SG: Atlantis, Larrin, Speedball Tapestry, PG
Disclaimer: not mine.
Set: post-Travelers
Character: Larrin
Genre: gen, drama, angst
Rating: PG
Length: 1000
Notes: here's the thing. This is... second person, I think is the correct terminology? I rarely ever write in this way, but somehow, that's how this came out. The other thing is, well, this is an entirely introspective piece. Despite the woman kicking ass and taking names, this kinda stuff is all in my head.
Speedball Tapestry
by ALC Punk!
You're falling through space. Falling, like you were standing on the force field in the cargo hold, and it failed (you joked to Sheppard that it sometimes failed, after all), sending you dropping out into the inky black. Surrounded by nothing bu the pale light from the stars and the cold.
So cold.
There's a thousand-pound weight pressing down on your chest, lack of atmosphere stealing the air in your lungs, arctic cold freezing the blood in your veins. Crystal-ice coats your eyelashes and you can't blink to avoid the slow red haze coloring your vision.
After all you've done, this doesn't seem like the way you should go. A space accident. How stupid is that? And you used to be so careful, too--
Before your life flashed before your eyes.
Before Sheppard gave you a look that said he'd been where you were, and he didn't want to talk about it.
Before you stepped away from what he could offer and put your people first.
You always put your people first, they're your flesh and blood, the warp and weft of your world. The Wraith skirt the fringes, of course, but it's the people you protect, the people you converse with every day. The children who watch you in the hall, perhaps hoping you'll pick them to stay (but never to go).
Not that you can blame them. Your lives are hard, and they're getting harder with every ship lost to the Wraith. You can just hope (and pray to Gods no one believes in anymore) that Sheppard's predicted war won't leave your people more vulnerable. That this group opposing the Wraith won't turn like a scorpion and smash through your meagre defenses.
Your lungs feel on fire, and you give way, sucking in a breath that doesn't exist--
You wake drenched with sweat, feeling the pulse pounding in your veins and the adrenaline sliding just under your skin. You feel, for a moment, so fully alive it's like you can taste the colors around you. The air skates across your skin like someone was just there, hands sliding over you.
Fingers fisted, you try to relax, try to calm yourself. It was all just a dream. Just a nightmare of death. You've had those a thousand times before, though they weren't usually you. It's your people you see. The ones you've had to leave behind, the ones who were 'chosen'. You couldn't lie to them when you said goodbye. They knew, as did you, that you would never be back for them.
Sometimes, you thought the Wraith had probably culled them. Other times, you hope they survive. That somewhere, there's small colonies of your people thriving and alive. Perhaps Lona is leading them, or Beryl, or Saruna. Though the latter seems improbable due to her lack of common sense.
You're not very optimistic about them having survived, though. Life isn't that easy.
The sweat-damp sheets grow clammy as you relax again, and you shift, cursing the fact you got rid of the last man to fill your bed. They're sometimes annoying, but they give off heat like an engine going into meltdown.
It wasn't so cold-blooded a decision as everyone thinks. He'd been stealing from you, from all of you. And you couldn't let that go. Not without losing face, or worse. And facing the worse would mean letting someone else take control of your people.
You think that might be worse than dying.
Tasting the bitterness of tears at the back of your throat, you scrape a nail along your skin. The spike of pain brings you back to reality. Back to your room, and the darkness that surrounds you. From the feel of the ship around you, it's not yet morning, though it's well past midnight.
Unbidden, your dream slides back across your mind, coaxing you into further darkness. Into the death it promised. Into the stars and no air to breathe forever and ever--
That thousand-pound weight lay on you while the Wraith sucked your life from your body. You could feel the end, feel everything becoming useless and pointless, and a part of you welcomed it. You would be able to stop. To let others make the decisions, never again to face the child of a woman you'd left behind. Brothers, sisters, husbands and wives, you've left them all and tried to make peace with their survivors.
You tell yourself it's your way of life, that this is how it goes. That it could be you being left behind, next. For the good of the people.
You also tell yourself self-doubt is for cowards.
Letting the dream go also lets the feeling that came afterwards go. That overwhelming sense of being alive that drove you to your feet and into Sheppard's arms. For a moment, you'd felt like a God, you could reach out and change the universe, twist destiny upon its own will.
And you did. He never saw you coming.
You want that high back, suddenly. For an instant, you're craving it like a drug. Like sex and a good smoke, a good drink and good food all rolled into one. You want to feel that alive again.
Problem is, there's only one way to get it. And you are not planning on becoming a Wraith worshipper anytime soon.
There might not be any gods anymore, but the Wraith haven't supplanted them.
Get up. The thought is imperative, and you push upwards, shaking the last of the sleep from your head.
You feel the vestiges of the high dissipate for good, not even the memory of a memory remains now you're fully awake. The ship creaks around you and you swing your legs off the bed, already planning the things that need to be done that day. It's far too early to get up, but you have a mission to accomplish, and a people to watch over. There are already ten things you know have to be done before you can have breakfast. Two ships require a refit, another needs a re-stocking mission. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.
Your brain fills with practicalities and plans.
Nightmares and dreams are going to have to wait.
-f-
Set: post-Travelers
Character: Larrin
Genre: gen, drama, angst
Rating: PG
Length: 1000
Notes: here's the thing. This is... second person, I think is the correct terminology? I rarely ever write in this way, but somehow, that's how this came out. The other thing is, well, this is an entirely introspective piece. Despite the woman kicking ass and taking names, this kinda stuff is all in my head.
Speedball Tapestry
by ALC Punk!
You're falling through space. Falling, like you were standing on the force field in the cargo hold, and it failed (you joked to Sheppard that it sometimes failed, after all), sending you dropping out into the inky black. Surrounded by nothing bu the pale light from the stars and the cold.
So cold.
There's a thousand-pound weight pressing down on your chest, lack of atmosphere stealing the air in your lungs, arctic cold freezing the blood in your veins. Crystal-ice coats your eyelashes and you can't blink to avoid the slow red haze coloring your vision.
After all you've done, this doesn't seem like the way you should go. A space accident. How stupid is that? And you used to be so careful, too--
Before your life flashed before your eyes.
Before Sheppard gave you a look that said he'd been where you were, and he didn't want to talk about it.
Before you stepped away from what he could offer and put your people first.
You always put your people first, they're your flesh and blood, the warp and weft of your world. The Wraith skirt the fringes, of course, but it's the people you protect, the people you converse with every day. The children who watch you in the hall, perhaps hoping you'll pick them to stay (but never to go).
Not that you can blame them. Your lives are hard, and they're getting harder with every ship lost to the Wraith. You can just hope (and pray to Gods no one believes in anymore) that Sheppard's predicted war won't leave your people more vulnerable. That this group opposing the Wraith won't turn like a scorpion and smash through your meagre defenses.
Your lungs feel on fire, and you give way, sucking in a breath that doesn't exist--
You wake drenched with sweat, feeling the pulse pounding in your veins and the adrenaline sliding just under your skin. You feel, for a moment, so fully alive it's like you can taste the colors around you. The air skates across your skin like someone was just there, hands sliding over you.
Fingers fisted, you try to relax, try to calm yourself. It was all just a dream. Just a nightmare of death. You've had those a thousand times before, though they weren't usually you. It's your people you see. The ones you've had to leave behind, the ones who were 'chosen'. You couldn't lie to them when you said goodbye. They knew, as did you, that you would never be back for them.
Sometimes, you thought the Wraith had probably culled them. Other times, you hope they survive. That somewhere, there's small colonies of your people thriving and alive. Perhaps Lona is leading them, or Beryl, or Saruna. Though the latter seems improbable due to her lack of common sense.
You're not very optimistic about them having survived, though. Life isn't that easy.
The sweat-damp sheets grow clammy as you relax again, and you shift, cursing the fact you got rid of the last man to fill your bed. They're sometimes annoying, but they give off heat like an engine going into meltdown.
It wasn't so cold-blooded a decision as everyone thinks. He'd been stealing from you, from all of you. And you couldn't let that go. Not without losing face, or worse. And facing the worse would mean letting someone else take control of your people.
You think that might be worse than dying.
Tasting the bitterness of tears at the back of your throat, you scrape a nail along your skin. The spike of pain brings you back to reality. Back to your room, and the darkness that surrounds you. From the feel of the ship around you, it's not yet morning, though it's well past midnight.
Unbidden, your dream slides back across your mind, coaxing you into further darkness. Into the death it promised. Into the stars and no air to breathe forever and ever--
That thousand-pound weight lay on you while the Wraith sucked your life from your body. You could feel the end, feel everything becoming useless and pointless, and a part of you welcomed it. You would be able to stop. To let others make the decisions, never again to face the child of a woman you'd left behind. Brothers, sisters, husbands and wives, you've left them all and tried to make peace with their survivors.
You tell yourself it's your way of life, that this is how it goes. That it could be you being left behind, next. For the good of the people.
You also tell yourself self-doubt is for cowards.
Letting the dream go also lets the feeling that came afterwards go. That overwhelming sense of being alive that drove you to your feet and into Sheppard's arms. For a moment, you'd felt like a God, you could reach out and change the universe, twist destiny upon its own will.
And you did. He never saw you coming.
You want that high back, suddenly. For an instant, you're craving it like a drug. Like sex and a good smoke, a good drink and good food all rolled into one. You want to feel that alive again.
Problem is, there's only one way to get it. And you are not planning on becoming a Wraith worshipper anytime soon.
There might not be any gods anymore, but the Wraith haven't supplanted them.
Get up. The thought is imperative, and you push upwards, shaking the last of the sleep from your head.
You feel the vestiges of the high dissipate for good, not even the memory of a memory remains now you're fully awake. The ship creaks around you and you swing your legs off the bed, already planning the things that need to be done that day. It's far too early to get up, but you have a mission to accomplish, and a people to watch over. There are already ten things you know have to be done before you can have breakfast. Two ships require a refit, another needs a re-stocking mission. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.
Your brain fills with practicalities and plans.
Nightmares and dreams are going to have to wait.
-f-