Fic: Death - 1/2 - R/L, Koch/C - PG-13
Nov. 15th, 2006 04:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kahvi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
reddwarfslashTitle: Death pt. 1/2
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister, Kochanski/Cat
Rating: PG-13, for this part (language mostly)
Disclaimer: I don't own these boys, I just play with them. Don't make money from them either.
Spoilers: Everything - set post-VIII.
Notes: I normally don't post fics in parts, but this is something I've been working on for ages, and it's finally going somewhere. I'm quite excited about it, so I just had to post. I have to post the rest soon, because... Well, there's something else a-coming. Something gestalt-like. ;)![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
"Remember - only the good die young!"
Rimmer ran.
This was not an unfamiliar situation for him to be in. In fact, it was annoyingly, irritatingly familiar; although this familiarity was also the harbinger of an odd sort of comfort. Run. Find a way to escape. Get away. This was pure instinct for him, which meant he didn't have to think much, which, given the circumstances, was rather a blessing.
"Stop! Where are you going?" Rimmer ignored the desperate cries of the vending machine as he rushed past it. "I told you; they all crossed over into the mirror universe - there's nothing here! He-llo? You're wasting your time!"
"Piss off!" Rimmer shouted over his shoulder, without stopping. What on Io had possessed him to listen to that candy-pushing pedantic bastard? It wanted revenge, for smeg's sake; of course it wasn't going to tell him the truth. It wanted to make Arnold J. Rimmer's life miserable, and it had goiting well succeeded.
He legged it down the corridor towards the life-boats. There had to be one left, hadn't there? Rimmer knew his escape routes; knew them as well as he knew the final moves in his gold-medal winning Junior Risk Championship game. He ran along the wall where the ComfoSafe Delux Senior Ranking Officers Only pods used to be - all gone. He passed the EconSafe Plus models, the EZ-Evaccs - taken, every last one, even the one where the one of the oxygen supply-tanks had been replaced with helium by mistake. Rimmer knew this, because it had been his mistake, but he'd avoided telling anyone because, well, who would ever know? Except in an emergency situation, and then, who would care? Oh, what he wouldn't do for a helium-supplied pod right now! He turned the corner with his eyes closed, praying to the only entity he trusted with any kind of certainty - himself - that he didn't remember wrong. It had to be here. It had to still smegging be here.
Lister was experiencing a disconcerting sort of Deja Vu. It wasn't that he had a strange sense he'd done what he was doing before, because he wasn't actually doing anything. No way in smegging hell could sorting girlie magazines into reverse order of explicitness be classified as an activity. It was just something for your hands to do to keep them from atrophying. No; rather, he was getting the distinct impression that he'd felt like this before. That he'd spent hours upon hours upon hours doing smeg all before. And of course, he realized with a sigh, he was right; he had. All those years of apathetic ennui back on the Dwarf, followed by endless months of claustrophobic misery on the old 'Bug; and now this.
He tossed the last mag on top of the pile in disgust, and slumped back into his chair. He hadn't bothered actually looking at any of them; he knew them all by heart, anyway. They were his; he'd snagged them from his re-constructed room before they'd escaped, and every page was like a wife to whom he had been married far, far too long. Even naked body parts got same-y when they didn't move around or change for years and years. Still, they were all he had now. You made do.
It wasn't that Kochanski wouldn't have slept with him if had made an effort. After all, she was lonely too, and this state of undecided limbo they were in was getting to them all, in different ways. Yeah, he could smarten himself up, beat his clothes into shape, read some of those books they'd found in one of the lockers here to have something to talk about; give her some honest, heart-felt attention rather than lewd flirtation, and she'd come around. Somehow, though, it just felt like too much of a chore. She was a lovely lady, and there was something of an echo of the old Kris, his Kris about her, and yet he just couldn't bring himself to as much as polish his boots for her. Just as well that she'd been spending most of her time with Cat, then. Fit company for one another, those two; they could swap sewing patterns and discuss the relative merits of suede versus pleather.
They'd only been traveling for a few days, yet it already felt like weeks. That didn't bode well for when it did turn into weeks, Lister thought grimly, shuffling his way to the cockpit. They had nowhere to go, that was part of the problem. If they'd had a goal; a target; something to look forward to, then maybe that would have helped. But they didn't, and so they spent their time arguing about fabric-softener and sorting porn, going slowly mad. Well. Most of them.
"Ah, Mr. Lister, Sir!" Kryten beamed, looking up from his polishing of the navi-console as Lister entered. "Having a pleasant evening?"
"I've had worse, Krytes." Like that time they'd had to spend the night in on a deserted GELF colony, and had been forced to sleep in a puddle of mud to keep warm. Which wouldn't have been all that bad, really, if it hadn't been for the leeches.
"Indeed," Kryten chirped, not really listening. The mechanoid was in his element. Having an entire ship to scrub down and completely redecorate from top to bottom was as close as he could come to silicon heaven while still in operation. Given that Starbug 2 had been inside Red Dwarf when the nano-bots re built it, it had after all, he pointed out whenever someone voiced the opinion that he might be overdoing things just a little, been spending rather a lot of time in Lister's laundry-basket. No one ever tried to counter that particular argument.
Lister poked the seat of his usual chair with a skeptical finger. "You polished this again? Only ye know I can't stand sliding off the seat all the time, yeah?"
Kryten gave a pleasant, serene smile. "No indeed, Sir, I did remember. No polish." In addition to the cleaning, Kryten was enjoying the bliss of having his Mr Lister, for once, out of the way of any possible harm. Things had been very peaceful of late, and he aimed to keep it that way.
Easing his way into the chair, Lister noted with some satisfaction that there was indeed no furniture-polish-induced slipperiness this time around. Getting himself as comfortable as you could hope to be on the bridge of a JMC Starbug, he gingerly lifted first one booted foot, then the other, and placed them, one over the other, on the console in front of him. They slid off with a thud. Lister groaned, and was about ready to throw one of his smegging boots at the hyperactive sanitation-droid when the alert sounded.
The Cat, having been asleep and purring in the dark, tight space beneath the pilot's seat, jumped up suddenly, growling. "Did you hit something with those stinky-things again, monkey-boy?"
"I didn't touch nothing, I swear," Lister yelled defensively, "and they don't stink! Kryten cleans 'em every day, ye couldn't stop him if ya tried." And Lister had tried, in all sorts of increasingly complicated ways. It had been something to keep himself occupied with, until he got tired of listening to Kryten bang himself back into shape afterwards.
"Shut up," Cat shot back, "now you've got cue-ball brain up and interfering too!"
"I didn't do anything," Lister exasperated, turning to Holly's solemn face for confirmation.
Holly nodded sagely. "He's right dudes. Got a situation. A..." he concentrated, his digital brow furrowing, "thing. Thingy. One of them things. Coming straight at us."
Lister sighed wearily. "One of what things, Hol?"
"You know, a pod." Pleased with himself, the computer's grin widened. "Yeah, one of them. Closing in, too."
"A pod?" Cat sniffed the air, cautiously. "What kind of a pod? I don't smell nothing!"
Kryten pressed a few buttons with the back of his feather-duster, and made a rather disturbingly happy noise. “Oh, no wonder, Sir! It's a garbage pod.”
“A garbage pod?” Lister swiveled around in his seat, trying prevent the beginnings of a headache by rubbing at his forehead with his fingers. “Wouldn't that smell more than anything else?”
"Not so Sir. JMC garbage pods are all equipped with powerful shielding to prevent contamination of the spaceways. Not even feline olfactory senses could penetrate that." Looking rather smug, Kryten brushed an invisible speck of dust off the back of Lister's seat.
The Cat growled in disgust, swatting at Lister's legs. “You interrupted my beauty-upkeep sleep to tell me there's garbage coming this way? What's the matter with you?”
Lister swung his legs out of the way of those surprisingly sharp, short nails. “I didn't mean to wake ya up! And I didn't know there was a pod coming! Why do you keep insinuating everything that happens on this ship is my smegging fault?”
“Because it usually is, Dave,” Kochanski chirped, poking her head in from the mid-section. “I have the pod secured in the cargo-bay decon space, if anyone is interested.”
Kryten dropped his duster, and flailed to catch it again before it hit the too-clean floor, his mouth gaping. “You brought it in, ma'am? But it could be swarming with... with mutated viruses or space-bacteria, or killer rampaging micro cleaning-bots on the fritz, or...”
“...which is why I put it into decon,” Kochanski interrupted easily. "Now come on, would everyone like to have a look at it?” She gave a quick, happy smile, and sauntered off.
Lister looked at the space where she had been for a moment or two, then shrugged happily. Something to do, wasn't it?
It very definitely was a garbage pod. There was something a little off about it though, and it took Lister a little while to recognize what it was. The pods back on the 'Dwarf he knew, even before the accident, had been worn and scratched up. Their hulls, though protected by various radiation-based shielding once spaceborne, had been little more than scrap-metal. This pod was practically gleaming, looking as though it had gone through a car-wash. "It looks brand new," he marvelled.
Kochanski peered at it through the observation window. "Must be from the nano-reconstructed ship, then. Not the old 'Dwarf. That probably means it's safe; anything ejected from there won't have had time to mutate." She glanced at Holly, as though expecting confirmation.
Holly nodded. "Yeah, it's one of ours all rights. Nanos did a number on this one; it's even transmitting its cargo-manifest to me like it's supposed to, bless the little blighter." He smiled an almost fatherly smile in the pod's direction, and started opening the hefty doors leading in to it.
"Are you... you... insane! Mister Lister... Mister Lister might..." Kryten's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. Then they did fall out of their sockets, and by the time he had gathered them up again, it was far to late for him to do anything about the situation.
"I'm sure it's perfectly safe," Kochanski said, nonetheless remaining firmly right where she was.
"Perfectly safe? Perfectly safe?" Kryten crossed his arms over his chest with as much dignity as he could muster. "We have no idea what might be in there!"
"Only one way to find out, eh?" Lister rolled the sleeves of his overall up to his elbows and rubbed his hands. "Step aside and let the chicken-soup mechanic handle this one."
"Dave, I'm not sure..." Kochanski began, before the Cat interrupted her, slinking an arm around her waist.
"Don't worry peachy-cheeks; you said it was all right, right?" With the expression of someone desperately trying not to show emotion, Kochanski leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He grinned wider. "Wadda ya mean that's a private name? It's not a name, it's the truth, baby!" He licked the side of her face with a purr.
Oh, perfect, Lister thought, raising the lid of the opening-mechanism keypad. That was just perfect, that was. Working faster than safety regulations demanded (but safety regulations be smegged to hell, because what reason did he have to protect himself), he punched in the final code, hit the 'enter' button with the heel of his hand, and waited. Cat had Kochanski, Kryten had Starbug, and Holly had this smegging pod that he seemed to be cooing over like some demented father-figure. Rimmer was off Aceing his way across the dimensions and getting more ass than he could hit, no doubt, and who did that leave Lister with? Fuming, he stared sullenly at the slowly rising lid, his eyes widening with every inch of the inside that was revealed. "Smeg me sideways..."
"You bastardly cock-sucking bastard!" Rimmer yelled, throwing himself out of the still-opening pod, proceding to throw himself at Lister, trying to strangle him.
Holly frowned. "Hang on a 'mo. Getting it now." Figures flooded the screens surrounding the computer's simulated face, which, after a while, ended up smiling. "Ah, right. You lot best get cracking. There's a lifeform in there."
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister, Kochanski/Cat
Rating: PG-13, for this part (language mostly)
Disclaimer: I don't own these boys, I just play with them. Don't make money from them either.
Spoilers: Everything - set post-VIII.
Notes: I normally don't post fics in parts, but this is something I've been working on for ages, and it's finally going somewhere. I'm quite excited about it, so I just had to post. I have to post the rest soon, because... Well, there's something else a-coming. Something gestalt-like. ;)
fanfic100 challenge - my table is here."Remember - only the good die young!"
Rimmer ran.
This was not an unfamiliar situation for him to be in. In fact, it was annoyingly, irritatingly familiar; although this familiarity was also the harbinger of an odd sort of comfort. Run. Find a way to escape. Get away. This was pure instinct for him, which meant he didn't have to think much, which, given the circumstances, was rather a blessing.
"Stop! Where are you going?" Rimmer ignored the desperate cries of the vending machine as he rushed past it. "I told you; they all crossed over into the mirror universe - there's nothing here! He-llo? You're wasting your time!"
"Piss off!" Rimmer shouted over his shoulder, without stopping. What on Io had possessed him to listen to that candy-pushing pedantic bastard? It wanted revenge, for smeg's sake; of course it wasn't going to tell him the truth. It wanted to make Arnold J. Rimmer's life miserable, and it had goiting well succeeded.
He legged it down the corridor towards the life-boats. There had to be one left, hadn't there? Rimmer knew his escape routes; knew them as well as he knew the final moves in his gold-medal winning Junior Risk Championship game. He ran along the wall where the ComfoSafe Delux Senior Ranking Officers Only pods used to be - all gone. He passed the EconSafe Plus models, the EZ-Evaccs - taken, every last one, even the one where the one of the oxygen supply-tanks had been replaced with helium by mistake. Rimmer knew this, because it had been his mistake, but he'd avoided telling anyone because, well, who would ever know? Except in an emergency situation, and then, who would care? Oh, what he wouldn't do for a helium-supplied pod right now! He turned the corner with his eyes closed, praying to the only entity he trusted with any kind of certainty - himself - that he didn't remember wrong. It had to be here. It had to still smegging be here.
Lister was experiencing a disconcerting sort of Deja Vu. It wasn't that he had a strange sense he'd done what he was doing before, because he wasn't actually doing anything. No way in smegging hell could sorting girlie magazines into reverse order of explicitness be classified as an activity. It was just something for your hands to do to keep them from atrophying. No; rather, he was getting the distinct impression that he'd felt like this before. That he'd spent hours upon hours upon hours doing smeg all before. And of course, he realized with a sigh, he was right; he had. All those years of apathetic ennui back on the Dwarf, followed by endless months of claustrophobic misery on the old 'Bug; and now this.
He tossed the last mag on top of the pile in disgust, and slumped back into his chair. He hadn't bothered actually looking at any of them; he knew them all by heart, anyway. They were his; he'd snagged them from his re-constructed room before they'd escaped, and every page was like a wife to whom he had been married far, far too long. Even naked body parts got same-y when they didn't move around or change for years and years. Still, they were all he had now. You made do.
It wasn't that Kochanski wouldn't have slept with him if had made an effort. After all, she was lonely too, and this state of undecided limbo they were in was getting to them all, in different ways. Yeah, he could smarten himself up, beat his clothes into shape, read some of those books they'd found in one of the lockers here to have something to talk about; give her some honest, heart-felt attention rather than lewd flirtation, and she'd come around. Somehow, though, it just felt like too much of a chore. She was a lovely lady, and there was something of an echo of the old Kris, his Kris about her, and yet he just couldn't bring himself to as much as polish his boots for her. Just as well that she'd been spending most of her time with Cat, then. Fit company for one another, those two; they could swap sewing patterns and discuss the relative merits of suede versus pleather.
They'd only been traveling for a few days, yet it already felt like weeks. That didn't bode well for when it did turn into weeks, Lister thought grimly, shuffling his way to the cockpit. They had nowhere to go, that was part of the problem. If they'd had a goal; a target; something to look forward to, then maybe that would have helped. But they didn't, and so they spent their time arguing about fabric-softener and sorting porn, going slowly mad. Well. Most of them.
"Ah, Mr. Lister, Sir!" Kryten beamed, looking up from his polishing of the navi-console as Lister entered. "Having a pleasant evening?"
"I've had worse, Krytes." Like that time they'd had to spend the night in on a deserted GELF colony, and had been forced to sleep in a puddle of mud to keep warm. Which wouldn't have been all that bad, really, if it hadn't been for the leeches.
"Indeed," Kryten chirped, not really listening. The mechanoid was in his element. Having an entire ship to scrub down and completely redecorate from top to bottom was as close as he could come to silicon heaven while still in operation. Given that Starbug 2 had been inside Red Dwarf when the nano-bots re built it, it had after all, he pointed out whenever someone voiced the opinion that he might be overdoing things just a little, been spending rather a lot of time in Lister's laundry-basket. No one ever tried to counter that particular argument.
Lister poked the seat of his usual chair with a skeptical finger. "You polished this again? Only ye know I can't stand sliding off the seat all the time, yeah?"
Kryten gave a pleasant, serene smile. "No indeed, Sir, I did remember. No polish." In addition to the cleaning, Kryten was enjoying the bliss of having his Mr Lister, for once, out of the way of any possible harm. Things had been very peaceful of late, and he aimed to keep it that way.
Easing his way into the chair, Lister noted with some satisfaction that there was indeed no furniture-polish-induced slipperiness this time around. Getting himself as comfortable as you could hope to be on the bridge of a JMC Starbug, he gingerly lifted first one booted foot, then the other, and placed them, one over the other, on the console in front of him. They slid off with a thud. Lister groaned, and was about ready to throw one of his smegging boots at the hyperactive sanitation-droid when the alert sounded.
The Cat, having been asleep and purring in the dark, tight space beneath the pilot's seat, jumped up suddenly, growling. "Did you hit something with those stinky-things again, monkey-boy?"
"I didn't touch nothing, I swear," Lister yelled defensively, "and they don't stink! Kryten cleans 'em every day, ye couldn't stop him if ya tried." And Lister had tried, in all sorts of increasingly complicated ways. It had been something to keep himself occupied with, until he got tired of listening to Kryten bang himself back into shape afterwards.
"Shut up," Cat shot back, "now you've got cue-ball brain up and interfering too!"
"I didn't do anything," Lister exasperated, turning to Holly's solemn face for confirmation.
Holly nodded sagely. "He's right dudes. Got a situation. A..." he concentrated, his digital brow furrowing, "thing. Thingy. One of them things. Coming straight at us."
Lister sighed wearily. "One of what things, Hol?"
"You know, a pod." Pleased with himself, the computer's grin widened. "Yeah, one of them. Closing in, too."
"A pod?" Cat sniffed the air, cautiously. "What kind of a pod? I don't smell nothing!"
Kryten pressed a few buttons with the back of his feather-duster, and made a rather disturbingly happy noise. “Oh, no wonder, Sir! It's a garbage pod.”
“A garbage pod?” Lister swiveled around in his seat, trying prevent the beginnings of a headache by rubbing at his forehead with his fingers. “Wouldn't that smell more than anything else?”
"Not so Sir. JMC garbage pods are all equipped with powerful shielding to prevent contamination of the spaceways. Not even feline olfactory senses could penetrate that." Looking rather smug, Kryten brushed an invisible speck of dust off the back of Lister's seat.
The Cat growled in disgust, swatting at Lister's legs. “You interrupted my beauty-upkeep sleep to tell me there's garbage coming this way? What's the matter with you?”
Lister swung his legs out of the way of those surprisingly sharp, short nails. “I didn't mean to wake ya up! And I didn't know there was a pod coming! Why do you keep insinuating everything that happens on this ship is my smegging fault?”
“Because it usually is, Dave,” Kochanski chirped, poking her head in from the mid-section. “I have the pod secured in the cargo-bay decon space, if anyone is interested.”
Kryten dropped his duster, and flailed to catch it again before it hit the too-clean floor, his mouth gaping. “You brought it in, ma'am? But it could be swarming with... with mutated viruses or space-bacteria, or killer rampaging micro cleaning-bots on the fritz, or...”
“...which is why I put it into decon,” Kochanski interrupted easily. "Now come on, would everyone like to have a look at it?” She gave a quick, happy smile, and sauntered off.
Lister looked at the space where she had been for a moment or two, then shrugged happily. Something to do, wasn't it?
It very definitely was a garbage pod. There was something a little off about it though, and it took Lister a little while to recognize what it was. The pods back on the 'Dwarf he knew, even before the accident, had been worn and scratched up. Their hulls, though protected by various radiation-based shielding once spaceborne, had been little more than scrap-metal. This pod was practically gleaming, looking as though it had gone through a car-wash. "It looks brand new," he marvelled.
Kochanski peered at it through the observation window. "Must be from the nano-reconstructed ship, then. Not the old 'Dwarf. That probably means it's safe; anything ejected from there won't have had time to mutate." She glanced at Holly, as though expecting confirmation.
Holly nodded. "Yeah, it's one of ours all rights. Nanos did a number on this one; it's even transmitting its cargo-manifest to me like it's supposed to, bless the little blighter." He smiled an almost fatherly smile in the pod's direction, and started opening the hefty doors leading in to it.
"Are you... you... insane! Mister Lister... Mister Lister might..." Kryten's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. Then they did fall out of their sockets, and by the time he had gathered them up again, it was far to late for him to do anything about the situation.
"I'm sure it's perfectly safe," Kochanski said, nonetheless remaining firmly right where she was.
"Perfectly safe? Perfectly safe?" Kryten crossed his arms over his chest with as much dignity as he could muster. "We have no idea what might be in there!"
"Only one way to find out, eh?" Lister rolled the sleeves of his overall up to his elbows and rubbed his hands. "Step aside and let the chicken-soup mechanic handle this one."
"Dave, I'm not sure..." Kochanski began, before the Cat interrupted her, slinking an arm around her waist.
"Don't worry peachy-cheeks; you said it was all right, right?" With the expression of someone desperately trying not to show emotion, Kochanski leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He grinned wider. "Wadda ya mean that's a private name? It's not a name, it's the truth, baby!" He licked the side of her face with a purr.
Oh, perfect, Lister thought, raising the lid of the opening-mechanism keypad. That was just perfect, that was. Working faster than safety regulations demanded (but safety regulations be smegged to hell, because what reason did he have to protect himself), he punched in the final code, hit the 'enter' button with the heel of his hand, and waited. Cat had Kochanski, Kryten had Starbug, and Holly had this smegging pod that he seemed to be cooing over like some demented father-figure. Rimmer was off Aceing his way across the dimensions and getting more ass than he could hit, no doubt, and who did that leave Lister with? Fuming, he stared sullenly at the slowly rising lid, his eyes widening with every inch of the inside that was revealed. "Smeg me sideways..."
"You bastardly cock-sucking bastard!" Rimmer yelled, throwing himself out of the still-opening pod, proceding to throw himself at Lister, trying to strangle him.
Holly frowned. "Hang on a 'mo. Getting it now." Figures flooded the screens surrounding the computer's simulated face, which, after a while, ended up smiling. "Ah, right. You lot best get cracking. There's a lifeform in there."
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Date: 2006-11-15 04:32 pm (UTC)xXx
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Date: 2006-11-15 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 05:36 pm (UTC)Rimmer knew his escape routes; knew them as well as he knew the final moves in his gold-medal winning Junior Risk Championship game. He ran along the wall where the ComfoSafe Delux Senior Ranking Officers Only pods used to be - all gone. He passed the EconSafe Plus models, the EZ-Evaccs - taken, every last one, even the one where the one of the oxygen supply-tanks had been replaced with helium by mistake.
So Rimmer. And I love the rest of the paragraph, too. Oh, the possibilities of helium instead of oxygen in a space-suit!
No way in smegging hell could sorting girlie magazines into reverse order of explicitness be classified as an activity.
I beg to differ! I mean... ahem.
Even naked body parts got same-y when they didn't move around or change for years and years.
Poor Rachel...
they could swap sewing patterns and discuss the relative merits of suede versus pleather.
Damn skippy.
The leeches just wanted to suck him. Are we sure they weren't from Rimmerworld?
it had after all, he pointed out whenever someone voiced the opinion that he might be overdoing things just a little, been spending rather a lot of time in Lister's laundry-basket. No one ever tried to counter that particular argument.
Kryten love.
Boot-porn denied!
The Cat, having been asleep and purring in the dark, tight space beneath the pilot's seat
Cat love. Poor Lister, with no dark, tight space of his own... ahem.
Kochanski love on Lister's smegging fault.
Irate Rimmer-love, and cracking-right-on-top-of-things-at-the-end-Holly love.
Even the only niggly I can give is "spaceborne" instead of "born."
Oh, are we sneaking in our solo fics before the gestalt? ;) *pulls out fic*
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Date: 2006-11-15 08:17 pm (UTC)At least you can put Rachel in different poses. I'm sure if you asked Rimmer, he'd swear she moved when he wasn't looking.
Oh, don't you just bet there are some choice leeches on Rimmerworld? Swarming with it, probably. Yes. *cough*
Isn't it a drag when you get all that boot-porn foreplay, and then nothing happens?
Oh, are we sneaking in our solo fics before the gestalt? ;)
Yes, we doo..n..t. < /Little Brittain >
I saw what you're posted, and I'm torn between giddiness and aprehension. You're gonna hit me with the angst, aren't you? Aren't you??
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Date: 2006-11-15 08:30 pm (UTC)Angst? No, ma'am! I have enough of that in the current gestalts! Well, enough for the moment. :)
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Date: 2006-11-15 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 08:54 pm (UTC)None of the villagers could understand why the leeches kept latching on to the trees, though.
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Date: 2006-11-15 09:00 pm (UTC)That is so heart-breaking, adorable and squee-worthy I could just die!
Also, trees. *snigger*
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Date: 2006-11-17 09:01 pm (UTC)*yet another mental image that bloody well stays in my sweet, innocent, virgin mind, damn you*
:D
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Date: 2006-11-17 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-17 09:58 pm (UTC)I mean... Gaaah! Innuendo black hole! ;D
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Date: 2006-11-17 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 07:01 pm (UTC)Intriguing, and I love your style - clear, correct, funny.
More!
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Date: 2006-11-15 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 09:06 pm (UTC)Thank ye!
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Date: 2006-11-17 05:26 am (UTC)It does in an I-don't-want-to-know way.
BTW, I was a bit confused by the PoV change, but it just might be me. Is the Starbug scene after the posse has exited the re-constructed Red Dwarf or how does that work?
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Date: 2006-11-17 06:50 am (UTC)I just think the idea of Cat/Kochanski just makes sense. I try to use it when I can. ;)
This is after the end of series VIII. I'm assuming you've seen all of series VIII? In Only The Good, Rimmer is left behind by the others (or so the vending machine tells him - as I've tried to indicate here, I've always wondered why he just believed it outright; it was trying to get revenge, after all). And then, you know, there's that whole scene with Death, he says his little line; "only the good die young," and the series ends. That is when this fic starts. In other words, the others have already left Red Dwarf before the POV-change. Does that help? :)
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Date: 2006-11-17 07:38 am (UTC)I see what you're saying now. I guess what threw me was the amount of time that must have elapsed on Starbug (and why didn't the original crew take it when they were evacuating? Not your problem, of course, but a problem with the original.)
Rimmer must have been in that garbage pod for a very long time.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-17 07:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-17 08:57 pm (UTC)"Ah, right. You lot best get cracking. There's a lifeform in there."
Ahhhaha, oh Holly :D
Very amusing, and I do love Lister's inner grumbling.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-17 10:00 pm (UTC)