Remix Fic!
The Remix Redux authors have been revealed! So I can now fess up to this one.
I have to say, I was surprised and kind of tickled to discover that 3 out of the 4 Farscape remixes written this year were Chiana-centric. (The fourth was about the Eidolons and featured a fascinating examination of the history of the Farscape universe, and turns out to have been written by kernezelda.) I'd barely written any Chiana at all before now, myself, which is a terrible oversight, and one I was very glad to have the chance to rectify.
Anyway, here 'tis.
Title: Dance in the Snow (The Chiana Was Here Remix)
Fandom: Farscape
Summary: John, Chiana, and snow.
Rating/Warnings: PGish for some very mild sexual allusions.
Length: ~1,200 words.
Notes: Remix of "Mouthful of Snow" by sugargroupie. It's set sometime during "Terra Firma." I personally consider it John & Chiana gen, but if you like you can call it uc John/Chiana instead, seeing as it features Chi being, you know, Chi.
Dance in the Snow (The Chiana Was Here Remix)
Chiana spreads her arms, tilts her chin, and surveys the unbroken snowfield in front of her. It's pretty, a perfect white like the hair of a very old Nebari, and it sparkles as if someone has sprinkled it over with calza-gems. In the distance, the mountains are covered in clouds, leaving her to imagine their tops stretching up and up, connecting Earth to space.
There are people somewhere behind her: those silent, hulking humans with no sense of humor that have been following them everywhere since they first got here, and the rest of her shipmates, currently squabbling over whose idea it was to come up here when they could have stayed happily in the warmth of Flo-ri-da. Chiana pays them as little attention as possible until one set of footsteps approaches, scrunching towards her through the snow. Funny how it makes that noise. It looks so much softer than it sounds.
She knows who it is without turning around and jerks her head a little in acknowledgment. Crichton stops behind her, quiet for the moment. It's amazing how a gorgeous view can turn even a man like Crichton speechless. And the snowy scenery is nice, too, she thinks, giggling silently at her own self-appreciative joke.
"You know," she says after a moment goes by, the giggly mood fading in the cool, white hush, "it never snows on Nebari Prime. The authorities won't let it. The weather... the weather's always controlled. Never too hot, never too cold, just enough rain. No snow."
"Wow," says Crichton. "The skiing there must really suck."
Chiana laughs. She doesn't know what "skiing" is, although Crichton has offered to take her later. She likes to imagine that it's something kinky.
It's beginning to snow again now, big, fat flakes drifting lazily down from the sky, in no apparent hurry to join their fellows on the ground. One lands on her cheek, leaving a brief, cold pinprick of sensation before it melts. She leans forward and catches another on her tongue. It doesn't taste like anything. Just clean, cold nothing.
She closes her eyes for a microt, trying to taste anything at all. When she opens them again, the glare of all that whiteness makes her flinch. It's too perfect, too smooth and uniform and pure. She wants to mess it up. She does a quick little pirouette, kicking up snow as she spins, sowing a little chaos under her feet. Then she does it again, and again, because it's fun.
"Chi, what the hell are you doin'?" There's laughter in Crichton's voice.
"What does it look like?" she says, coming lightly to a stop as the world spins gently around her.
"Dancing in the snow? Singing in the rain?"
"That's right," she says, "dancing." She knows by now which parts of Crichton's answers to listen to and which to ignore. "This snow... it needs someone to dance on it."
He gives her a long, thoughtful look, and she feels a quick flush of embarrassment. That was kind of a fahrbot thing to say, and she doesn't expect Crichton to understand.
"Huh," he says, finally. "Hey, you want me to show you something Earth people do in the snow?"
She tilts her head, carefully examining his face, and sees nothing mocking there. "Sure," she says.
He flings himself down into the snow, face-up, spread-eagled. "Oh," she says, licking her lips. "That kind of something." She doesn't really think it is, but it's fun to tease Crichton, and who knows? One day it might be.
"No," he says, snugging himself down into the snow. "Like this." He scissors his arms and legs back and forth, and Chiana considers and rejects multiple ideas about what the hezmana he thinks he's doing.
Crichton leaps to his feet, jumping clear of the imprint his body has left in the snow. "Snow angel," he says. "See?"
"Angel?" says Chiana. She can't remember if that's a word she's heard him use before or not.
"Look," he says, pointing. "Wings!"
And it does, she realizes, look like a creature with wings. A winged Crichton. She laughs. "I wanna try!"
He gestures her towards a patch of unbroken snow, but she's already there, slowly moving her limbs back and forth, feeling the angel forming beneath her. Chiana with wings.
"There ya go," says Crichton. "Easy. Angel Chi."
She carefully steps clear, admiring the pattern she's left. It's pretty, but... "It's missing something," she says.
"A halo?" asks John. "An 'Angel Chi may not represent reality' disclaimer?"
"Nope." She squats down, touches the snow gently with one gloved finger, and begins slowly spelling out the complex glyphs of her name. She knows it won't last, that all the marks she leaves will be gone when the snow melts or buried when more falls. But at least for now, the snow knows she's here.
"Ah," says Crichton. "Signature. Gotcha." He chuckles. "I think I'll spare you a demonstration of how human men write their names in the snow..."
She imagines what he might mean, and mock-pouts as she stands. "Aww. That might be interesting."
"Oh, yeah," he says and grins, but makes no move to demonstrate.
"Well," she says, "what else do humans do in the snow?"
"I'll show you," he says. "Look over there." He points off into nothingness, and Chiana, trusting him, looks.
"What?" she says. "I don't see any--" But before she can finish the sentence, something cold and wet hits her in the shoulder. She spins around, mouth agape with indignation.
"Snowball fight!" yells Crichton, and throws another one, hitting her square in the midriff.
"Crichton!" she shouts, but he just smiles and scoops up more snow.
Well, all right. The rules of this game seem pretty obvious... She scoops snow, shapes it, hurls it at his chest with a war cry. It makes a satisfying splat. The next few hundred microts are a friendly, snowy little war, which ends with Chiana clinging to Crichton's back with both legs and one arm as the other shovels show down the back of his jacket until he cries "Uncle!"
Chiana has no idea what the frell uncles have to do with it, but she's out of snow anyway. Not that it matters. "I win!" she crows.
"Yeah, you win! You win! Holy crap, that's cold!"
Chiana presses herself against his back as if to warm him with her body heat, but that only grinds the melting snow into him and makes him yelp. Laughing, she slides off his back to lie in the snow, making an ordinary Chiana to go with Angel Chi.
"You know something, Crichton?" she says.
"What?" he says, swearing under his breath as he brushes snow out of his clothes.
"I think I like this planet." She catches another snowflake in her mouth and licks her lips. It tastes better this time.
"Good," he says, and despite the amused irritation in his voice, she can tell that he means it.
She sits up and idly draws Crichton's name next to hers in the snow. For as long as it lasts.
I have to say, I was surprised and kind of tickled to discover that 3 out of the 4 Farscape remixes written this year were Chiana-centric. (The fourth was about the Eidolons and featured a fascinating examination of the history of the Farscape universe, and turns out to have been written by kernezelda.) I'd barely written any Chiana at all before now, myself, which is a terrible oversight, and one I was very glad to have the chance to rectify.
Anyway, here 'tis.
Title: Dance in the Snow (The Chiana Was Here Remix)
Fandom: Farscape
Summary: John, Chiana, and snow.
Rating/Warnings: PGish for some very mild sexual allusions.
Length: ~1,200 words.
Notes: Remix of "Mouthful of Snow" by sugargroupie. It's set sometime during "Terra Firma." I personally consider it John & Chiana gen, but if you like you can call it uc John/Chiana instead, seeing as it features Chi being, you know, Chi.
Dance in the Snow (The Chiana Was Here Remix)
Chiana spreads her arms, tilts her chin, and surveys the unbroken snowfield in front of her. It's pretty, a perfect white like the hair of a very old Nebari, and it sparkles as if someone has sprinkled it over with calza-gems. In the distance, the mountains are covered in clouds, leaving her to imagine their tops stretching up and up, connecting Earth to space.
There are people somewhere behind her: those silent, hulking humans with no sense of humor that have been following them everywhere since they first got here, and the rest of her shipmates, currently squabbling over whose idea it was to come up here when they could have stayed happily in the warmth of Flo-ri-da. Chiana pays them as little attention as possible until one set of footsteps approaches, scrunching towards her through the snow. Funny how it makes that noise. It looks so much softer than it sounds.
She knows who it is without turning around and jerks her head a little in acknowledgment. Crichton stops behind her, quiet for the moment. It's amazing how a gorgeous view can turn even a man like Crichton speechless. And the snowy scenery is nice, too, she thinks, giggling silently at her own self-appreciative joke.
"You know," she says after a moment goes by, the giggly mood fading in the cool, white hush, "it never snows on Nebari Prime. The authorities won't let it. The weather... the weather's always controlled. Never too hot, never too cold, just enough rain. No snow."
"Wow," says Crichton. "The skiing there must really suck."
Chiana laughs. She doesn't know what "skiing" is, although Crichton has offered to take her later. She likes to imagine that it's something kinky.
It's beginning to snow again now, big, fat flakes drifting lazily down from the sky, in no apparent hurry to join their fellows on the ground. One lands on her cheek, leaving a brief, cold pinprick of sensation before it melts. She leans forward and catches another on her tongue. It doesn't taste like anything. Just clean, cold nothing.
She closes her eyes for a microt, trying to taste anything at all. When she opens them again, the glare of all that whiteness makes her flinch. It's too perfect, too smooth and uniform and pure. She wants to mess it up. She does a quick little pirouette, kicking up snow as she spins, sowing a little chaos under her feet. Then she does it again, and again, because it's fun.
"Chi, what the hell are you doin'?" There's laughter in Crichton's voice.
"What does it look like?" she says, coming lightly to a stop as the world spins gently around her.
"Dancing in the snow? Singing in the rain?"
"That's right," she says, "dancing." She knows by now which parts of Crichton's answers to listen to and which to ignore. "This snow... it needs someone to dance on it."
He gives her a long, thoughtful look, and she feels a quick flush of embarrassment. That was kind of a fahrbot thing to say, and she doesn't expect Crichton to understand.
"Huh," he says, finally. "Hey, you want me to show you something Earth people do in the snow?"
She tilts her head, carefully examining his face, and sees nothing mocking there. "Sure," she says.
He flings himself down into the snow, face-up, spread-eagled. "Oh," she says, licking her lips. "That kind of something." She doesn't really think it is, but it's fun to tease Crichton, and who knows? One day it might be.
"No," he says, snugging himself down into the snow. "Like this." He scissors his arms and legs back and forth, and Chiana considers and rejects multiple ideas about what the hezmana he thinks he's doing.
Crichton leaps to his feet, jumping clear of the imprint his body has left in the snow. "Snow angel," he says. "See?"
"Angel?" says Chiana. She can't remember if that's a word she's heard him use before or not.
"Look," he says, pointing. "Wings!"
And it does, she realizes, look like a creature with wings. A winged Crichton. She laughs. "I wanna try!"
He gestures her towards a patch of unbroken snow, but she's already there, slowly moving her limbs back and forth, feeling the angel forming beneath her. Chiana with wings.
"There ya go," says Crichton. "Easy. Angel Chi."
She carefully steps clear, admiring the pattern she's left. It's pretty, but... "It's missing something," she says.
"A halo?" asks John. "An 'Angel Chi may not represent reality' disclaimer?"
"Nope." She squats down, touches the snow gently with one gloved finger, and begins slowly spelling out the complex glyphs of her name. She knows it won't last, that all the marks she leaves will be gone when the snow melts or buried when more falls. But at least for now, the snow knows she's here.
"Ah," says Crichton. "Signature. Gotcha." He chuckles. "I think I'll spare you a demonstration of how human men write their names in the snow..."
She imagines what he might mean, and mock-pouts as she stands. "Aww. That might be interesting."
"Oh, yeah," he says and grins, but makes no move to demonstrate.
"Well," she says, "what else do humans do in the snow?"
"I'll show you," he says. "Look over there." He points off into nothingness, and Chiana, trusting him, looks.
"What?" she says. "I don't see any--" But before she can finish the sentence, something cold and wet hits her in the shoulder. She spins around, mouth agape with indignation.
"Snowball fight!" yells Crichton, and throws another one, hitting her square in the midriff.
"Crichton!" she shouts, but he just smiles and scoops up more snow.
Well, all right. The rules of this game seem pretty obvious... She scoops snow, shapes it, hurls it at his chest with a war cry. It makes a satisfying splat. The next few hundred microts are a friendly, snowy little war, which ends with Chiana clinging to Crichton's back with both legs and one arm as the other shovels show down the back of his jacket until he cries "Uncle!"
Chiana has no idea what the frell uncles have to do with it, but she's out of snow anyway. Not that it matters. "I win!" she crows.
"Yeah, you win! You win! Holy crap, that's cold!"
Chiana presses herself against his back as if to warm him with her body heat, but that only grinds the melting snow into him and makes him yelp. Laughing, she slides off his back to lie in the snow, making an ordinary Chiana to go with Angel Chi.
"You know something, Crichton?" she says.
"What?" he says, swearing under his breath as he brushes snow out of his clothes.
"I think I like this planet." She catches another snowflake in her mouth and licks her lips. It tastes better this time.
"Good," he says, and despite the amused irritation in his voice, she can tell that he means it.
She sits up and idly draws Crichton's name next to hers in the snow. For as long as it lasts.