Kaz (kazbaby) wrote,

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For farscapefriday

Notes: It's been a long time since I've posted fic to farscapefriday, but I couldn't let this go by without even an attempt. This is the result. I swear it started out as a nice little drabble, but grew to 1,618 words. Thanks and another rose for her shrine, for dealing with my grammar, should go to oneeyethedrd for the beta. All other mistakes are my own and all feedback is welcome.
Rated: A very strong PG-13 for language and sexuality.
Setting: Shortly after SnS.
Summary: This is John. This is John on toxic levels of alcohol.

Fiddle and Drum

Oh, my friend
How did you come
To trade the fiddle for the drum.

- Fiddle and the Drum by A Perfect Circle


"Give me a raslak and a two telak whore," the man next you roars, bellying up to the bar. You take a sip of your drink and hiss at the unfamiliar bite, taking the opportunity to see where D'Argo has gotten to.

Still three seats down, leaning back in his seat against the bar, watching both the door and the purple girl with four breasts, doing a pole dance on stage.

A large hand claps you on the back; your hand is on the grip of your gun before it leaves the leather surface. A festive laugh coming from the bald alien relaxes you, but only marginally.

"Someone's in a good mood I see." You try and keep your voice light, but even you can tell that the words are sharp and bitter, actually meaning get the fuck away from me.

The guy's had three too many before even coming into this joint, though, his head almost wobbling as he answers, "I'm getting married tomorrow." He gives you a bleary-eyed grin along with another pat on the back before his order saunters up, takes the drink from his hand and downs it.

"Congratulations." Another long swallow leaves your glass empty and a small inferno in the pit of your stomach. You wave the empty glass vaguely to order another; a couple more of these, along with the six pack of fellip nectar from earlier, and you’ll reach the other man’s level of happiness.

That’s not really your goal. All you want at this moment is to forget. Forget that you’re exiled to this planet for god knows how many more arns, and the hissy fits that both you and D’Argo seem to toss up in each others faces over the stupidest reasons. Forget the dreams that were replaced by nightmares, the most important of those consisting of Aeryn and who she’s with. You don’t know which are worse: the ones where she dies because of something he did, or the one where she’s happy and there’s no more room for you in her life.

You can take a wide selection of pain, just not that flavor or brand.

“Drink with me and – and….” The drunk's head almost corkscrews like an owl when he tries to look at the hooker nibbling on his ear. “What’s your name?” Whatever she says is too much for your microbes to decipher or for the guy to pronounce. He shakes his head as he turns back to you, blinking all three eyes rapidly and trying to focus them on you. “D-drink with me and my lady friend.”

“I thought I was already,” you answer, holding up your glass before knocking it back and emptying it – again.

“Oh, yeah.” He laughs loudly and grabs a purple titty. “I forgot. S-so what brings you to our lovely, fine planet?”

It’s neither fine nor lovely. It’s a scorched wastehole that shouldn’t be called a planet any longer since they decided to blast away most of their resources building warships to whomever has the price. There are a lot of people with the right price nowadays.

“Got kicked off my ship for a few days, so you could say I’m on vacation.” You give D’Argo a glance, expecting him to chime in as usual.

“Women trouble.”

You’ve lucked out that the guy doesn’t recognize you from any beacons, but you still don’t want him to know that your boat is alive. Leviathans don’t seem to be in too abundance in these parts. The fewer clues left out in the open, the better.

“You c-could say that. She don’t like arguments.”

The guy is distracted by the girl getting her groove on as she slides a leg between his thighs. “How long?”

It takes you a few microts to think, staring at the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. You blink a few times when it seems as if you were about to be swallowed by yourself. A low groan brings you back and you actually smile for the first time in days.

“Not sure really.” You sniff the empty glass a couple times, imagining it smells of peppermint schnapps. “This is really good dren, you should try it,” you comment, before running your tongue along the inside edge of the glass. The thought doesn’t even arise that you may be drawing attention to yourself.

“Hmm?” There’s a hand down the guys pants and you don’t in the least feel like a voyeur since you saw, and probably did, a lot worse on the previous planet.

You’re feeling pretty numb, and the conversation is starting to sound like it’s hiding beneath a fur-lined blanket. So you laugh. “I don’t have an ever-frelling clue, man.”

D'Argo notices the attention you're getting, the hand at your side, and the girl loses her spot in the pecking order. He spins in his seat and orders another drink from the even larger purple chick running things behind the counter. She passes a look between the two of you, and drops her rag on the counter before leaning over and whispering something in D’s ear. His answer is quiet, but she seems to hear him well enough over the loud music and voices, gives him a single nod of the head before filling his glass from a bottle that looks like it’s been snatched out from a gutter. She mouths something else and walks away, leaving his credits on the counter top.

When she takes a step in your direction, you hold out the glass as if you’re waiting for the booze fairy to come along. “There a problem?”

“Nope.” You can hear the smile in her voice and look up to a grin. “I just told him that his drink was on the house.”

“Oh, and how did he rate that treatment?” You don’t really care, but it’ll kill a few minutes and maybe this guy will quit trying to show you the pictures of his new blushing, hard to tell through the beard really, bride while being jerked off.

She leans in closer, giving a little lift to her shoulders to get all four breasts up on the bar to reach you easier. “I think he’s cute.” Her voice is all low and sultry and you want to laugh in her face. She was playing a game, and what the hell – you’re drunk enough to play along.

“Yes. He is abzolutely gorgeous.” You match her forty watt smile with your own.

The soon-to-be bridegroom finally pays attention to what is being said. His arm drops away from your back and he begins to have a little nervous giggle, but you set his mind at ease by declaring that he isn’t as good looking as your luxan buddy.


After almost four cycles of being hunted, you’re usually on your toes and wouldn’t jump, but then the voice saying your name usually doesn’t appear spontaneously, standing right up against you and looking down as you lay your head against your arm.

There’s two of him for a second, and it's official. You’re shitfaced. “Ya, D!”

“I think it’s time to go.” Pressing in close, he slides his hand down your hip, down the leather on your thigh and slowly removes your hand from the gun. D’Argo’s voice has always had that Barry White sound, but when it rolls across your ear, it’s a killer. “The bartender is starting to play you, John, and someone’s going to get killed tonight. I’d prefer it not be one of us, and I know you don’t want to hurt anyone else. So let’s go.”

For a guy that used to suffer from permanent PMS, he’s playing it cool. Your head is no clearer than it was before he came up, but D’Argo’s words get through the fog. So you stand on shaky legs and the world tilts. If not for D’Argo's arm against your back, you would have lost a couple teeth and been able to tell people what wood finish tastes like.

He reaches for the hand that is still warm from holding Winona, lifting it over his shoulder, and grabs around your waist, directing you toward the door.

“I’m drunk.”

“Yes, you are,” he replies just as your head tilts forward slightly. You take a deep breath and try and hold it up.

"D’Argo.” You don’t feel too hot all of a sudden, and just want the comforting sights and sounds within Moya’s walls. “Take me home.”

“Hotel first. Pilot says we can return in the morning.”

“Okay.” Passing by the stage, you try and swing around, almost causing you both to fall to the floor, and stare up at the girl. D’Argo practically lifts you to get you back in the right direction.

“D, am I seeing double, or do the women have four boobs?”

“They have four.”

Leaning your head all the way back to keep watching the girl as she does the splits while standing on her hands, you squint your eyes to see them more clearly. “But they have no nipples, how can you suck…”

“I’ll explain when you have sobered,” he answers as you both step out through the door and out into the street.

Neither of you sees the bartender sigh and shove your glasses into the sink. “I think they’ll work out their problems.”

The guy, who’d been your best friend for a few hundred microts, nods in agreement and says, “But that was one big, ugly woman.” The hooker sticks her tongue down his throat at that point, so he misses the other woman rolling her eyes at him as she goes to find something else more entertaining until the end of her shift.
Tags: fic

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