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reddwarfslash2012-11-02 01:00 am
kahvi.livejournal.com) wrote in reddwarfslash2012-11-02 01:00 am
Entry tags:
Fic: The Natural Order of Things - R/L (imp) - PG
Title: The Natural Order of Things
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I still don't own Red Dwarf, or any of the characters thereof. I make no money from this.
Spoilers: Slight allusions to a plot point in Fathers and Suns.
Notes: These keep happening. Making no apologies!
"This is taking ages." Lister huffed in frustration as he pushed the cumbersome virtual files away. "Why do we have to do this in AR, anyway?"
"Because we don't have a reliable AI."
"Oh yeah?" Yet another load of poorly rendered filing cabinets rushed towards them, dumping their content at Lister's feet like burping drunks. He lowered his comically oversized gloves to sort through them. "And whose fault is it that we can't use the only decent replacement we found in years?"
"This isn't about placing blame, Lister. Come on; let's pick up the pace before Kryten thinks something's wrong and patches me out. Actually," Rimmer paused before his heaping mound, thoughtfully, "perhaps he should do that, for safety reasons."
Lister rolled his eyes. "Just keep going. How smegging hard can it be to find a personnel file?"
Rimmer clicked his tongue. "One single file, among thousands? Using what was left over of Holly's 'where I think things should probably fit' patented filing system?"
"Yeah, yeah - all right!" There really were a lot of employees, many with job titles Lister had never heard of. Still, only one of these fake plastic folders would contain the access code to the games room storage locker, where, inexplicably, the diagnostic tools for the ship's multiwave ovens were kept. Lister didn't know, but he couldn't help but suspect skutter involvement. "Hey," he brightened; "this one's a Parker!"
"Not an Anthony, though."
"No..."
"And not a catering officer."
"No..."
"So, not very likely, in fact, to be whom we are looking for."
"Who, you pretentious twonk."
"Yes, that's what I said."
"Anyway," Rimmer rummaged through virtual papers half-heartedly, "if he married, that wouldn't even be his name anymore."
"What; if he got married after his last performance review, but before the accident six months later?"
Rimmer bristled. "It could happen!"
"Whatever."
There followed a frantic yet bored few minutes, which were also both dull and fruitless. Lister sighed. Marriage, his mind prompted. Not likely to happen to you now, is it? Shrugging to himself, Lister kept flicking through pages. Probably not, but then, he'd never cared much for marriage. He glanced at Rimmer.
"Would you, then?"
"Would I what?"
"Would you change your name, if you got married?"
"Of course."
Lister giggled. "Listen to that! Anything else, and you'd've gone 'that's not likely to happen, is it, Lister' or 'shut up, you goit; the rest of the human race is dead' - but there's yer answer, plain and simple!"
Rimmer narrowed his eyes. "Well, that's just the way it is. You get married; you change your name."
"Not if you're a woman."
"Of course not if you're a woman; what are you getting at?"
"So, that's a bit unfair, don't you think?"
Dropping his file, Rimmer turned towards him, grimly. "It doesn't matter if it's unfair, that's just the way things are. You'd take Kochanski's name, wouldn't you? Smeg knows you brandish it about often enough."
Lister chewed on the idea. "No."
"No?"
"No. I like my name."
"But it's tradition!" Rimmer threw his arms wide. "It's always been like that."
Lister snorted. "What; always?"
"Yes! Since the dawn of time. It just makes sense; women bear the children, so names should go through them. Just common sense. And you never know who a baby's father is, but you always know the mother. Stands to reason."
Having found a few more 'Parkers', Lister was momentarily distracted. "So," he muttered, thumbing through Johns and Janes, "yer saying it's the natural order of things?"
"Absolutely, Listy. Like unisex toilets, public breastfeeding and American Sherlock Holmes adaptations, it's just inherently good; it's how things are supposed to be."
"I'm not knocking Sherlock in Space," Lister protested, but Rimmer stopped him before he could say another word.
"The natural order of things." Rimmer waved a file for emphasis. "Honestly, you're such a sixth-wave feminist. Girls like green, boys like purple. Your aunt gives you away at your wedding. Virgins wear black; first time brides wear pink. Men bake, women mix drinks; these aren't societal constructs, it's just how men and women are wired to behave."
"Well, I'm not changing my name." Lister plucked the paper flopping out of Rimmer's open folder - it read, in bold, manly purple, ANTHONY PARKER. "Thanks," he grinned, clapping out.
Rimmer watched the mess of overturned papers and sighed, inwardly. Part of him, possibly through his innate, electronic connection to this non-world could see it for what it actually was, like a flimsy overlay; file after random file all jumbled in the wrong directories.
"Kryten!" The bastard would be listening, even if he wasn't supposed to be.
"Sir?" The mechanoid's voice corrected itself, hurriedly, "Not that I was listening at all, sir-"
"Never mind - just tell me; how the smeg did Holly organize all this?"
"It's near impossible to say, sir. I suspect things were moved about until they looked sort of right."
"Sort of right?"
"Well, for instance, the personnel files appear to be arranged according to family affiliation, or a perceived state thereof."
"What," Rimmer picked a file at random, "families together; that sort of thing?"
"Precisely, sir."
"There weren't that many families on Red Dwarf." Unless you counted the labor unions, which Rimmer, born and raised on a moon on which they were forbidden, certainly did not.
"Indeed, which is why some connections have been made where none truly exist - or, perhaps, where she feels one should exist."
"Great space." Rimmer threw the file down, the contents scattering. Madness, all of it. And having to go through all this trouble for a set of tools to help Lister cook his vile dinners. He poked a sheet with his foot, the frowned. The name at the top of the page very clearly spelled Arnold.
"Kryten; how many Arnolds did we have on board?"
"Unknown, sir - but if you'll give me a moment I can drop myself into the datapool and swim around a bit.."
"Never mind." It was an actual pool - strictly speaking virtual - for reasons known only to their late, senile computer. "It doesn't matter." The first letter of the last name was barely visible, but Rimmer clapped out before he could read it clearly.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I still don't own Red Dwarf, or any of the characters thereof. I make no money from this.
Spoilers: Slight allusions to a plot point in Fathers and Suns.
Notes: These keep happening. Making no apologies!
"This is taking ages." Lister huffed in frustration as he pushed the cumbersome virtual files away. "Why do we have to do this in AR, anyway?"
"Because we don't have a reliable AI."
"Oh yeah?" Yet another load of poorly rendered filing cabinets rushed towards them, dumping their content at Lister's feet like burping drunks. He lowered his comically oversized gloves to sort through them. "And whose fault is it that we can't use the only decent replacement we found in years?"
"This isn't about placing blame, Lister. Come on; let's pick up the pace before Kryten thinks something's wrong and patches me out. Actually," Rimmer paused before his heaping mound, thoughtfully, "perhaps he should do that, for safety reasons."
Lister rolled his eyes. "Just keep going. How smegging hard can it be to find a personnel file?"
Rimmer clicked his tongue. "One single file, among thousands? Using what was left over of Holly's 'where I think things should probably fit' patented filing system?"
"Yeah, yeah - all right!" There really were a lot of employees, many with job titles Lister had never heard of. Still, only one of these fake plastic folders would contain the access code to the games room storage locker, where, inexplicably, the diagnostic tools for the ship's multiwave ovens were kept. Lister didn't know, but he couldn't help but suspect skutter involvement. "Hey," he brightened; "this one's a Parker!"
"Not an Anthony, though."
"No..."
"And not a catering officer."
"No..."
"So, not very likely, in fact, to be whom we are looking for."
"Who, you pretentious twonk."
"Yes, that's what I said."
"Anyway," Rimmer rummaged through virtual papers half-heartedly, "if he married, that wouldn't even be his name anymore."
"What; if he got married after his last performance review, but before the accident six months later?"
Rimmer bristled. "It could happen!"
"Whatever."
There followed a frantic yet bored few minutes, which were also both dull and fruitless. Lister sighed. Marriage, his mind prompted. Not likely to happen to you now, is it? Shrugging to himself, Lister kept flicking through pages. Probably not, but then, he'd never cared much for marriage. He glanced at Rimmer.
"Would you, then?"
"Would I what?"
"Would you change your name, if you got married?"
"Of course."
Lister giggled. "Listen to that! Anything else, and you'd've gone 'that's not likely to happen, is it, Lister' or 'shut up, you goit; the rest of the human race is dead' - but there's yer answer, plain and simple!"
Rimmer narrowed his eyes. "Well, that's just the way it is. You get married; you change your name."
"Not if you're a woman."
"Of course not if you're a woman; what are you getting at?"
"So, that's a bit unfair, don't you think?"
Dropping his file, Rimmer turned towards him, grimly. "It doesn't matter if it's unfair, that's just the way things are. You'd take Kochanski's name, wouldn't you? Smeg knows you brandish it about often enough."
Lister chewed on the idea. "No."
"No?"
"No. I like my name."
"But it's tradition!" Rimmer threw his arms wide. "It's always been like that."
Lister snorted. "What; always?"
"Yes! Since the dawn of time. It just makes sense; women bear the children, so names should go through them. Just common sense. And you never know who a baby's father is, but you always know the mother. Stands to reason."
Having found a few more 'Parkers', Lister was momentarily distracted. "So," he muttered, thumbing through Johns and Janes, "yer saying it's the natural order of things?"
"Absolutely, Listy. Like unisex toilets, public breastfeeding and American Sherlock Holmes adaptations, it's just inherently good; it's how things are supposed to be."
"I'm not knocking Sherlock in Space," Lister protested, but Rimmer stopped him before he could say another word.
"The natural order of things." Rimmer waved a file for emphasis. "Honestly, you're such a sixth-wave feminist. Girls like green, boys like purple. Your aunt gives you away at your wedding. Virgins wear black; first time brides wear pink. Men bake, women mix drinks; these aren't societal constructs, it's just how men and women are wired to behave."
"Well, I'm not changing my name." Lister plucked the paper flopping out of Rimmer's open folder - it read, in bold, manly purple, ANTHONY PARKER. "Thanks," he grinned, clapping out.
Rimmer watched the mess of overturned papers and sighed, inwardly. Part of him, possibly through his innate, electronic connection to this non-world could see it for what it actually was, like a flimsy overlay; file after random file all jumbled in the wrong directories.
"Kryten!" The bastard would be listening, even if he wasn't supposed to be.
"Sir?" The mechanoid's voice corrected itself, hurriedly, "Not that I was listening at all, sir-"
"Never mind - just tell me; how the smeg did Holly organize all this?"
"It's near impossible to say, sir. I suspect things were moved about until they looked sort of right."
"Sort of right?"
"Well, for instance, the personnel files appear to be arranged according to family affiliation, or a perceived state thereof."
"What," Rimmer picked a file at random, "families together; that sort of thing?"
"Precisely, sir."
"There weren't that many families on Red Dwarf." Unless you counted the labor unions, which Rimmer, born and raised on a moon on which they were forbidden, certainly did not.
"Indeed, which is why some connections have been made where none truly exist - or, perhaps, where she feels one should exist."
"Great space." Rimmer threw the file down, the contents scattering. Madness, all of it. And having to go through all this trouble for a set of tools to help Lister cook his vile dinners. He poked a sheet with his foot, the frowned. The name at the top of the page very clearly spelled Arnold.
"Kryten; how many Arnolds did we have on board?"
"Unknown, sir - but if you'll give me a moment I can drop myself into the datapool and swim around a bit.."
"Never mind." It was an actual pool - strictly speaking virtual - for reasons known only to their late, senile computer. "It doesn't matter." The first letter of the last name was barely visible, but Rimmer clapped out before he could read it clearly.
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Also interesting with Rimmer seeing the AR as the background/actual files. Nice touch!
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As demonstrated by Lister's concern for the rights of mechanoids, he's definitely a seventh-wave feminist... and in the enlightened 23rd century, specifying an unfashionably outdated wave is necessary to turn "feminist" into an insult, is that right? :D