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Speaking of insanity...
I may poke at this more another time, but this is what I've got, for the AstroGirl 2004 Zhaan/Travis Challenge. (Courtesy of the eeeeevil ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
redstarrobot)
Post Star One
He'd fallen forever, it seemed. Tumbled end over end, his shoulder and chest full of raw pain that told him he was dead.
Then the universe shattered. Or maybe he just died.
He screamed, a bitter sound. Blake was still alive. He had failed his own personal mission, in the end. And Blake was alive.
Or maybe not. A sick twisted grin took his lips.
He still had lips?
"Sshhh." Gentle hands brushed his face, fingers tracing his cheekbones, one slid across the eye-patch. "Barbaric," the warm voice murmured.
"Where the hell am I?"
"Safe." The hands held him down, and he wondered why he could feel the bite of rings on the fingers that shouldn't be there.
"I'm not dead?"
"In a manner of speaking." She replied cryptically.
He opened his eye and stared up, the low light giving him only impressions. High cheekbones, pale eyes, blue skin. The last caused him to blink, sure this was an halucination. A last prayer before dying.
"I'm real."
"And I'm dead." He bit out.
A soft chuckle surrounded him, "Only if you wish to be, my dear."
"I am not--"
"No, you're not. There are others, however..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned away in a soft rustle of fabric. Silk, possibly. Satins, lace shirring softly. He could remember that sound from a hundred different beds during his time as a Presidential guardsmen.
"Why am I here?"
"Oooh, I believe Crichton would have told you that existentialism is best left to philosophers and madmen."
He barked a laugh, it grated on his nerves. He still had nerves, and hands and feet and arms and legs, and his chest didn't hurt. There should have been charred flesh, from the energy blast Avon had leveled at him. "I am mad, or haven't they told you."
"There is no one sane in this world." she replied equably. Then a smile lit her features, "Now, enough questions, young man."
"I am Space Commander Travis." He snapped, suddenly tiring of the sense of being played games with. Or being patronized. Servalan had been like that, leading him on like a dog on a leash until he turned into the snake that bit its own head off.
"Oh, so you do remember courtesy."
"When it's required."
"Mmm. I see."
Which was nice. Of course, he could see physically. But he had no idea where he was, or what was going on. Which was, perhaps, the point, he conceded. This could easily be some form of torture that Servalan and her lackeys were perpetuating on him. He'd seen enough drug-induced dreams (helped hold down their recipients, too) to know it could be what this was.
"I'm not a dream. Neither are you," Zhaan corrected him, her tone bordering on gentle, but holding something steely within.
"Then where am I?"
"Your after-life, my after-life, everybody's after-life."
"So I am dead."
"Yes. No. Maybe." A smile touched her lips. "I believe the true answer is up to you."
"Do you ever speak in anything other than riddles?" He demanded caustically.
"When it's required. Now, sleep. And later, we may talk more."
"How can I sleep if I'm dead?"
A chuckle came to him while she moved away. The scent of something spicy drifted towards him, and he was reminded of a planet he'd once helped subdue. The natives had had a specialty, some sort of fish that they smoked and then fried. Unfortunately, in 'subduing' them, the recipes had been lost. Countless generations of father-to-son knowledge had been lost in a single day.
He wondered if he even liked fish anymore.
redstarrobot)Post Star One
He'd fallen forever, it seemed. Tumbled end over end, his shoulder and chest full of raw pain that told him he was dead.
Then the universe shattered. Or maybe he just died.
He screamed, a bitter sound. Blake was still alive. He had failed his own personal mission, in the end. And Blake was alive.
Or maybe not. A sick twisted grin took his lips.
He still had lips?
"Sshhh." Gentle hands brushed his face, fingers tracing his cheekbones, one slid across the eye-patch. "Barbaric," the warm voice murmured.
"Where the hell am I?"
"Safe." The hands held him down, and he wondered why he could feel the bite of rings on the fingers that shouldn't be there.
"I'm not dead?"
"In a manner of speaking." She replied cryptically.
He opened his eye and stared up, the low light giving him only impressions. High cheekbones, pale eyes, blue skin. The last caused him to blink, sure this was an halucination. A last prayer before dying.
"I'm real."
"And I'm dead." He bit out.
A soft chuckle surrounded him, "Only if you wish to be, my dear."
"I am not--"
"No, you're not. There are others, however..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned away in a soft rustle of fabric. Silk, possibly. Satins, lace shirring softly. He could remember that sound from a hundred different beds during his time as a Presidential guardsmen.
"Why am I here?"
"Oooh, I believe Crichton would have told you that existentialism is best left to philosophers and madmen."
He barked a laugh, it grated on his nerves. He still had nerves, and hands and feet and arms and legs, and his chest didn't hurt. There should have been charred flesh, from the energy blast Avon had leveled at him. "I am mad, or haven't they told you."
"There is no one sane in this world." she replied equably. Then a smile lit her features, "Now, enough questions, young man."
"I am Space Commander Travis." He snapped, suddenly tiring of the sense of being played games with. Or being patronized. Servalan had been like that, leading him on like a dog on a leash until he turned into the snake that bit its own head off.
"Oh, so you do remember courtesy."
"When it's required."
"Mmm. I see."
Which was nice. Of course, he could see physically. But he had no idea where he was, or what was going on. Which was, perhaps, the point, he conceded. This could easily be some form of torture that Servalan and her lackeys were perpetuating on him. He'd seen enough drug-induced dreams (helped hold down their recipients, too) to know it could be what this was.
"I'm not a dream. Neither are you," Zhaan corrected him, her tone bordering on gentle, but holding something steely within.
"Then where am I?"
"Your after-life, my after-life, everybody's after-life."
"So I am dead."
"Yes. No. Maybe." A smile touched her lips. "I believe the true answer is up to you."
"Do you ever speak in anything other than riddles?" He demanded caustically.
"When it's required. Now, sleep. And later, we may talk more."
"How can I sleep if I'm dead?"
A chuckle came to him while she moved away. The scent of something spicy drifted towards him, and he was reminded of a planet he'd once helped subdue. The natives had had a specialty, some sort of fish that they smoked and then fried. Unfortunately, in 'subduing' them, the recipes had been lost. Countless generations of father-to-son knowledge had been lost in a single day.
He wondered if he even liked fish anymore.
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Um. I've been advised not to answer that, as it might be a breach of my Fifth Amendment rights. :)
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