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In Which an Attempt is Made
at the Discontinued Use of Certain Cordefic Clichés and
Fandom Infection is Halted in its Tracks. Alternately titled
Corde's Second Semester at College in Three Short Chapters(23)
Three unrelated bits that
have been floating around for several months. Chapter 2 reeks
of eau de maniacal fangirl, so please tread with care. Minor
spoilers for Die, Me, Dichotomy and season 3 in general particularly
the bits of season 3 that concern, er, mortality (Kids, if you
don't know by now that Zhaan died in season 3, you're not really
a fan, are you?)
Chapter 1 ("That smarted
me!" "I doubt it.")
Crichton was lying on his stomach
in the cargo bay, scribbling busily with his IASA Space Pen with
Pressurized Ink Cartages for Writing in Low or No Gravity, humming
merrily to himself. Aeryn, who had been stomping around Moya
angrily (she was peeved that she'd been left dead over the season
break), stomped into the cargo bay and nearly tripped over Crichton.
Giving a grunt worthy of an annoyed Luxan, she griped, "What
the frell do you think you're doing?"
Zhaan scurried in to shake
Aeryn's hand and give her a trophy for winning the Obligatory
Farscape Word of the Fic award.
"Quadratic equations,"
Crichton replied, dividing the numerator by the lowest common
denominator of each monomial and multiplying by the square root.
"An anonymous fan complained to Corde that she writes me
too stupid, so I'm doing smart things. See?"
"Anonymous fanmail? Wow,"
Aeryn mused. "I didn't know Corde got ANY fanmail, much
less anonymous fanmale."
"Heh," Corde heh'ed.
"Fanmale. Go go gadget Freudian slip!"
"Shut up," Aeryn
growled, sounding once again rather like an irritated Luxan.
"So someone complained and you changed your characterization
to suit the nameless, faceless masses?"
"If by 'masses' you mean
'three people who have ever been bored enough to read my stuff
without me sending it directly to their inboxes,' then yes. I
thought I'd try my hand at writing an intelligent Crichton,"
Corde said absently, watching his biceps flex as he squared the
coefficient and added the quotient of the difference between
x and y.
"Nice try," Aeryn
remarked as she watched him add 2.8 and ?17 to get 42, which
he then divided by 1,265 to get 3.
Corde shrugged. "Said
I'd try, not that it'd work."
Crichton became fascinated
with the properties of SpacePen ink and started doodling random
patterns on Moya's floor. Chiana and Jothee wandered past hand-in-hand,
and Aeryn glared. "Watch out for D'Argo, you two. I don't
want to have to deal with a Luxan scorned until I'm officially
alive again." They simply smiled goofily and wandered off
again.
"Look!" Crichton
shouted up from the floor where he was now liberally covered
with SpacePen ink. "Relativity!" He pointed to a spot
on the floor where he had written "E=McRib"
Chapter 2 (Here There Be G-Boyz.)
"Hey Duo?" Corde
called.
"Hey what?" Duo answered
from behind a closed door.
"Whatcha doin'?"
Corde asked, rocking back on her heels.
A rustle and a bump, then,
"Nuthin'." There was the brief sound of a scuffle,
then Duo yelped.
"I am not 'nothing,' baka,"
Heero said indignantly.
"So you're not busy?"
Corde asked, peering through the keyhole.
"Not anymore he's not,"
Heero said, opening the door and zipping his jeans at the same
time. ("Oi! Where's the spandex? Heero wears spandex, Corde.
Anything else is wildly OOC," Aeryn said accusingly. "Firstly,
spandex doesn't zip. Poetic license. Also, he wore jeans in Endless
Waltz, so it's not completely OOC," Corde told her, pointing
to her beloved Duo poster as proof. "And finally, you're
pretty darn OOC yourself, so don't even talk.")
"Good!" Corde yelled,
dashing into the room and glomping the half-clothed pilot on
the bed. "Tell me a story!"
Duo groaned and pulled the
covers over his head. "A what?"
"A story. I'm bored. Aeryn
doesn't want to do anything but critique my writing, Heero just
went to polish something Quatre and Trowa are busy, and, well,
I wanna play with your hair and listen to you tell stories."
Corde grabbed Duo's braid and began playing with the end of it.
"What are you, five years
old? Where did you come from? And why in Shinigami's name are
you in my bedroom?" Duo yanked his braid out of Corde's
clutches and burrowed further under the covers.
"Oi, Duo did I make
Hee-chan mad at you? Gomen! I didn't mean to!" Corde put
on her best fangirl sweatdrop and pretended to be cute. Duo wasn't
buying it. He groaned loudly from under the covers, making it
clear that Corde was not welcome.
Aeryn stalked into the room.
(She's not wandering, she's not sauntering, she's not even strutting.
I think stalking is appropriate at this point.) "Just WHAT
do you think you are doing, young lady?" she demanded, aiming
her pulse rifle at Corde's head. "Leave him alone, fangirl!
You've done enough damage to the Farscape fandom without infecting
the poor Gundam pilots! Get off Duo's bed and go finish Cordefic
22. It's been sitting in your notebook for months.
"Aww," Corde grumbled.
"Always spoiling my fun."
When the predatory fangirl
had left the room, Duo poked his head out from under the covers
and blinked suspiciously at Aeryn. "Um, thanks whoever you
are"
"Don't mention it,"
Aeryn told him. "She gives me trouble all the time. I wouldn't
wish her on any other fictional characters."
"Well, thanks. I mean
really, THANK you," Duo repeated. "Is there any way
I can repay you?"
Corde poked her head back in.
"Do I smell a crossover?"
"NO!" Aeryn and Duo
yelled, with an emphatic echo from wherever Heero had wandered
off to.
"Aww" Corde muttered.
Chapter 3 ("You just HAD
to mention her, DIDN'T you")
It had been many moons since
Corde had written a Cordefic, and she figured that it was about
that time. She was also extremely bored in math class. The rest
of the class was similarly uninspired. Teachers should know better,
Corde thought, than to try to do actual work the last day of
class before finals.
Somewhere in the background,
Jool screamed. Three empty desks in the back of the classroom
melted.
Bongo was lighting incense
in Zhaan's quarters. "I can't believe she's really gone.
She was the only one who could actually beat me at drinking games.
I guess her vegetative physiology wasn't affected by alcohol."
"That, or she had 800
years of practice," Chiana muttered enviously, not looking
up from Corde's graphing calculator. "Hey Corde, can I have
this thing when you're done with it? I like making pretty pictures."
Corde looked at the calculator's
display screen. Somehow, the Nebari had graphed a picture of
D'Argo. "Sure," Corde said, "I don't need it.
I can't even figure out how to graph a function."
Aeryn looked at the syllabus
for Corde's math class. "Math 104, Functions and their Graphs,"
she read. "Hmm. I think we now know why you're failing this
class, Corde."
"She doesn't pay attention,"
came Bongo's voice from the table underneath which he'd drunk
himself in grief.
"That too," Corde
agreed.
Jool screamed. Five more desks
melted, abruptly dumping their comatose occupants into a heap
on the floor.
Aeryn smacked Corde upside
the head. " 'Many moons?' Not even if you're telling a Native
American story, cheese head. That's worse than the infamous 'in
an odd fashion.' No, no, no!" she yelled, punctuating each
word with another smack to the head.
"Ow," said Corde.
THE END
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