Fic: Typecasting (Dancing With Myself Remix)
Title: Typecasting (The Dancing With Myself Remix)
Author: kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13 (discussion of violence and sexual innuendo)
Summary: Doc Cottle volunteers five of his patients for the pilot program of the Character Mentoring Project. Thus, five characters meet up with characters with whom they share a lot in common, including uncannily similar appearances.... Crack.
Fandoms: BSG/Dollhouse/Riese/Dances With Wolves/Bionic Woman/Firefly (plus appearances from Bones, Frasier, M*A*S*H*, Six Feet Under, Original-flavor Star Trek, and ST:DS9 )
Characters: Doc Cottle, Helo-Paul Ballard, Gaeta-Garin, Roslin-Stands With a Fist, Kara-Sarah Corvus, Romo-Badger
Notes: For the twelvecolonies crossover challenge. It’s a variation on a “Five Things/Times” fic, brought about because I really struggle with ideas for crossovers. I’m just not imaginative enough in the suspension of disbelief realm to make characters from different fandoms meet one another outside crack. Also, it’s not really a remix, because it’s not a remix of anything, but I wanted to use both titles and that structure was the best way I could come up with doing so.
Also, if you’re not familiar with it, Riese is a new steampunk web series. All the episodes but the first are offline right now as its creators negotiate a deal with a distributor, but their website does give a nice introduction to the universe and characters insofar as you might want to know for the fic. Also fun if you’d just like to see Connor and Gaeta dressed like weatherworn steampunk Vikings.
Typecasting (The Dancing With Myself Remix)
Chapter 1: Training Day
Dr. Cottle slouched in his chair and grumbled into his whiskey glass. The jury was still out on whether the fact that the psychiatry track was the only one at the Fictional Character Healthcare Conference that served alcohol made it worth sitting in a circle with a bunch of head shrinks. They’d even done an icebreaker, for frak’s sake. All Cottle wanted out of this damned symposium was to get his Continuing Fictional Medical Education credits as painlessly as possible. Talking about the best techniques for getting his patients to express how they feel about nuclear holocaust and the like was hardly Cottle’s idea of “painless,” so he was doing his best to tune out the discussions except whenever his own name came up.
Thus, he snapped out of a somewhat naughty daydream about the woman who’d told him that the buffet for the psychiatry track included an open bar when he heard someone say, “I know Dr. Cottle has experience with this.”
Cottle saw a few heads nod in approval of whatever he supposedly had experience with, so he nodded somberly as well.
“I completely agree,” said a nattily dressed, far too eager young man wearing a nametag that said “Hi, My Name Is Dr. Sweets.” “Seriously, I think we have a real recidivism problem.”
The thin and even more buttoned-down man named Dr. Crane rolled his eyes. “Of course you have recidivism problems, especially on dramas. Mental anguish is the whole point of a drama.”
Dr. Sweets riposted, “But I’m not even talking about a true drama. I’m the primary mental health care provider for a serio-comical procedural, and I’m seeing the trend present itself even there.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like recidivism to me. That sounds like tired, cliché writing.”
“‘Tired?’ ‘Cliché!?’ You-” The young Dr. Sweets was seething. Cottle perked up a bit and watched with more interest. The entertainment value of a fistfight between those two would more than make up for the pain of listening to everyone’s answers to the “If you were an ice cream flavor, which would you be and why?” icebreaker.
Much to Cottle’s chagrin, the moderator, Dr. Sidney Freedman, allayed the tension. “I think both Dr. Sweets and Dr. Crane have valid points. We all have to contend with scripts, so there’s only so much we can do for our patients. On the other hand, the trend of similar characters making the same mistakes over and over again, getting trapped in a cycle of self-destructive behavior, is very troubling.”
Most of the circle nodded their heads in agreement, though one woman guffawed. It was the attractive woman who’d told Cottle about the shrink meetings having booze while attempting to cop a feel. “What, you think having a wide variety of Emmy-worthy mental problems is so much better? Let me tell you, honey, I’ve been there, and though it may be more interesting to watch, it’s not any more fun to endure than having the same problem over and over again.”
Cottle tried and failed to suppress a smirk. He liked this woman.
“Your point is well taken, Dr. Chenowith,” said Dr. Freedman, “but I think it would be most productive if we focused on what steps we can take to address the problem Dr. Sweets has outlined. Does anyone have any suggestions? What do you think, Dr. McCoy? We haven’t heard much from you this afternoon.”
“Don’t look at me. I’m a doctor, not a think-tank,” grumbled the man sitting next to Cottle.
“I’m not a specialist in psychiatry, but it sounds to me as though some sort of program by which patients with similar problems could learn from one another would be an ideal solution,” said a man who looked enough like Dr. Baltar that Cottle noted that in order to maintain what little sanity the people of the Colonial Fleet had left, he’d better keep this guy away from Baltar’s cultists. And all the Sixes. And probably Mr. Gaeta, too.
“Are you suggesting something like a mentoring program, Dr. Bashir?” asked Dr. Sweets.
“Exactly.”
“All right, this sounds promising,” said Dr. Freedman. “Is there anyone here who has patients who have dealt with a lot of difficult issues and who therefore might have a lot of experiences they could share with others in similar situations, to help them find more healthy solutions?”
Cottle’s hand shot up.
Chapter 2: Do Android and Actives Dream of Chiseled-Featured Men?
“For months, I wondered, do I love her because she’s her, or do I love her because she’s programmed to be the sort of woman I would love, you know?” said Paul as he took another sip of his protein shake.
“Exactly!” Helo said, hitting Paul’s arm good-naturedly. “I spent a year circling New Caprica with nothing else to do but wonder about that. Even worse is when you realize you’ve fallen in love with someone you haven’t known for nearly as long as you thought you had. Because when I first fell in love with her, I was in love with Boomer. Then when I first slept with her, I thought she was Boomer. But in order to be in love with Athena as herself, I knew I had to love her for the ways she wasn’t Boomer.”
“Yes! Wow, I never thought I’d find somebody else who gets it,” said Paul, shifting his duffel bag on his shoulder. “The boxing gym is just around the corner, by the way.”
Helo nodded. “Good. So anyway, yeah, I completely understand where you’re coming from with Mellie. But from my experience, I’d say just hang in there, and things will work out all right in the end.”
Paul blinked in shock. “Uh, actually, I was talking about Caroline.”
Helo cocked his head. “Caroline? You mean the woman that you’ve never actually met, ever, and whom you dreamed about having necrophilic sex with?”
“Um....”
Helo stopped on the sidewalk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I have a saving people thing, too, but that? That’s not needing to be a hero. That’s just creepy.”
Paul winced. “Really?”
“Really.”
Paul sighed, and they started walking to the gym again. “Why can’t I ever fall for a woman who has just one version of herself in existence?”
Helo patted Paul on the shoulder. “Welcome to my world for the past five years, buddy.”
Chapter 3: The Revolution Will Be Deodorized
“And then he tells me he wants to scrap my thorough, meticulous, fool-proof plan for the raid that I’ve been working on for weeks so we can run around the woods looking for some girl who may not even still be alive!” Garin said, gesticulating wildly. “Never fails. Rand hears the words ‘heretic’ and ‘girl,’ and all reason flies from his brain. Do you have any idea how many female heretics there are? And yet every time, he’s certain it’s the princess.”
Felix shook his head. “Just for once, why can’t the smart, reasonable, logical guy be the leader, and the charismatic but crazy guy be his right-hand man?”
“Amen.” Garin and Felix clinked their beer bottles together in agreement.
Garin took a drink, then made a face. “But still...when he’s not being an idiot, he is a good leader. People like him enough to follow him to the mouth of hell, myself included. He does amazing things with a sword in battle, and...he’s really, really hot.”
Felix wagged his finger. “No, don’t relapse on me now. That’s the kind of thinking that gets guys like us sucked into very bad situations. And remember, we will be the ones who suffer for it, not the Rands and Gaiuses of the world.”
“But you haven’t ever seen him in person, after a battle when he’s all sweaty and-”
“Garin! No! Step away from the gorgeous destructive guy.” Felix raised his eyebrows. “Do we have to go over the Two Golden Rules of Staying Alive again?”
Garin rolled his eyes and recited, “‘One, never get involved in a mutiny, and two, find a nice, loving background character to cuddle you and frak you blind as needed.’ What does ‘frak’ mean, anyway?”
“Don’t worry. You find the right background infantryman or weapons expert, and you’ll figure it out fast enough.”
Garin still looked dejected, shoulders hunched as he fiddled absently with the clasp of his cloak.
Felix sighed. “You know I only say these things to help you, right? You need both legs in your situation.” Garin nodded, but his expression didn’t change. Felix, hunting for some way to cheer him up, finally said, “Look at it this way. Once you make it clear you’re available, you’re going to have background guys falling over themselves to get in your, uh, leggings. You rock the dirty Viking look, so much so that I almost wish I’d made it to Earth and worn animal pelts.”
Garin sat up. “That’s another thing! The animal pelts-that’s fine. We’re resistance fighters in the wilderness, living off the land, whatever. But the dirty part? We raid Sectarian outposts all the time for weapons and food. But do we ever take any of their personal hygiene products with us? Of course not. Someone can’t be bothered to be that practical.”
“I hear you. Frak, like the Cylons didn’t have extra toothpaste on their baseship-and they were even our allies by the time our supply ran out!” Felix shook his head, commiserating. “You see? If they let guys like us plan revolutions and post-apocalyptic escapes, we’d never run out of soap and toothpaste. We wouldn’t run out of anything, because we can think about consequences stretching out further than five minutes from now.”
They clinked bottles again. After Felix took a drink, he said, “That’s just ridiculous. I’m going to make sure you get a bar of soap, toothpaste, and a shaving kit to take back with you.”
“Thanks.” Garin’s eyes looked dazed and dreamy for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about this before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rand all cleaned up....”
Felix groaned and slapped his forehead.
Chapter 4: Stands With an Airlock
“Oh my gods, what I wouldn’t give to have seen the looks on their faces when you knocked that woman out cold!” Laura giggled as she skewered another strawberry and dipped it in the chocolate fondue.
Stands With a Fist popped a piece of pineapple in her mouth and smiled. “There eyes were very big, and their mouths were wide open like something had bitten their foot.”
That got both of them giggling again. When the laughter finally subsided, Laura looked at her friend and sighed. “Now I really wish I’d made it to Earth with my own hair. You’re living proof that the windswept look would have suited me really well.”
Stands With a Fist patted Laura’s arm. “I know. But they do not have this-” she pointed at the pot of warm chocolate with her fondue skewer “-where I come from, so you are very lucky there.”
“Indeed,” Laura said, emphasizing her statement by taking her time relishing a bite of chocolate-covered banana. “How did I ever live on algae?” Stands With a Fist gave Laura an odd look. “Long story-never mind.”
They munched in companionable silence for a little while, until Laura finally said, “Look, I don’t know how much help I can give you. It sounds to me like you’re doing just fine. You’re already excellent at getting your point across to stubborn people who won’t listen to reason, and I don’t think any tips I could give on airlocking techniques would be helpful in your situation, especially since your fists and your rifle are working for you so well.”
“Thank you,” Stands With a Fist said, bowing her head and blushing at the compliment. “I think maybe you could help me with one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Stands With a Fist sighed. “Dances With Wolves keeps wanting his moustache again. How did you get your man to get rid of his for good?”
Laura grinned evilly.
Chapter 5: Any Ass You Can Kick, I Can Kick Better
“Did it hurt?” Kara asked.
“Like hell,” said Sarah, leaning on her pool cue. “But it was worth it. There’s this annoying chick with a bionic arm and legs-I can kick her ass any day of the week.”
Kara knocked back the last of her glass of ambrosia and lined up her next shot. “Yeah? I killed a completely robotic chick with nothing but my own, unaltered, human bare hands.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“Fine, the fifteen-foot drop and the exposed spike on the floor below helped. But I killed this other skinjob over a dozen times, too-once just with chopsticks.”
Kara’s pool cue jerked into motion, and she swore when the seven ball ricocheted off the corner of the side pocket and settled back in the middle of the table.
“That so? Then why didn’t you beat the very human Lee Adama to a bloody pulp when you boxed with him?”
“He was pretty bloody and pulpy by the time I got done with him,” Kara shot back. “But for one, I wasn’t trying to kill him-I just wanted to muss up his face. And for two...” she leaned in and whispered, “I kind of held back.”
Sarah nodded, conceding the point. “Well, that’s nice, but no matter how strong you think you are, your eyes don’t have 2000/20 vision and an automatic scope built in, do they?”
Kara snorted. “What the frak would I need that for? Just always have a gun with a scope on it with you, because if you don’t have a gun, what else is a scope good for?”
Sarah bent over so her nose was level with the table. Her eyes flickered red for a moment. Then she aimed her cue, pulled it back, and snapped it forward. The cue ball bounced around the table like a laser-aimed pinball, and Sarah’s last three balls on the table, including the eight, rattled in the pockets. She blew off the tip of her pool cue like one would a smoking gun, then grinned at Kara.
Kara shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Sarah pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as the two headed towards the bar. “Want one?”
Kara smirked. “No, thanks. To prissy for me.” She pulled a fat cigar out of her back pocket and clamped it between her teeth. “Could use a light, though.”
Chapter 6: Birds of a Feather Fleece Together
“To be perfectly honest, besides the fact that we’re both handsome devils, I don’t see what they think we have in common,” said Romo as he brought his and Badger’s milkshakes back to their table.
Badger looked around, then pulled a flask out from underneath his pant leg and poured a little liquid into his shake.
“What’s that?”
“Finest wood alcohol money can buy,” Badger answered. He held out the flask. “Want some?”
Romo shrugged. “I’ll try anything once.”
Badger poured some into Romo’s shake and returned the flask to its hiding place. They both stirred their shakes with their straws, and Romo waited for Badger to take a drink of his first, just to make sure it was safe.
“I completely agree,” Badger said. “What does a businessman with firm roots in the communi’y ‘ave in common with a petty thief like you?”
Romo choked-whether it was the wood alcohol or the statement that was the main cause of his gag reflex kicking in, he wasn’t sure. “Excuse me? I’m the petty thief? Yes, I am a lawyer, and yes, I am used to lawyers being called a wide variety of very unsavory things, but from you?”
“Lawyers ain’t exactly my favorite scumbags in the ‘verse, either, but I was referrin’ to the wallet with the flamingo on it that you lifted from my vest pocket when you tripped on the sidewalk as we came in here.”
Romo smiled and looked at Badger over his sunglasses. He dug around in his jacket, then tossed the wallet on the table. Badger picked it up, counting the bills inside before placing it back in his vest.
“I doubt your lawyering background will ‘elp me any, but we’ll give her a shot. I got this ship’s captain who does jobs for me on occasion. Name’s Malcolm Reynolds, and ‘e’s a thorn in my side. Got all these delusions of grandeur, thinking ‘e don’t have to show me no respect just because ‘e don’t think my moral code is as good as ‘is. I’d cut ‘im loose, but I’ve been trying to get ‘is crew for my own operation for years, and they stick with the lout like glue.”
“So you want to get them to turn on their beloved authority figure and come to you instead, is that right?” Romo thought for a moment. He took his glasses off and pursed his lips. “This Reynolds character, his crew wouldn’t happen to include an idealistic child or protégé, between whom you could drive a wedge by appealing to the child’s sense of justice and righteous indignation, would he?”
Badger laughed. “’E’d never admit it, but he is the idealistic brat. Not gonna ‘appen anyway, since his righteous indignation is usually directed at me.”
“All right, then, does any of his crew have a former lover that’s one of his enemies? You could pull his or her heartstrings with a heartfelt personal anecdote, a few judicious lies, and a well-timed fake gift from the enemy. It’s amazing how much loyalty you can squeeze out of something as simple as a sob story of lost love and a nice pen.”
“Nah. I’m pretty good with manipulatin’ folks as it is, and when I can’t, I usually just have ‘em beaten up.” Badger slurped the last of his shake from the bottom of the cup. “Honestly, I’d rather just learn that pickpocketing trick of yours. Bein’ able to swipe ‘is ID and ship’s license out of ‘is coat every time I see ‘im-that’d piss ‘im off to no end, and remind ‘im who’s boss, too. Not to mention, I’m an admirer of anybody who can pull off a swindle beautiful as that.”
Romo put his glasses back on and grinned. “An admirer of talent and skill, you are, eh?”
“You kidding? Thievery, good, clean thievery-it’s an art form.”
Romo chuckled. “Mr. Badger, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Author: kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13 (discussion of violence and sexual innuendo)
Summary: Doc Cottle volunteers five of his patients for the pilot program of the Character Mentoring Project. Thus, five characters meet up with characters with whom they share a lot in common, including uncannily similar appearances.... Crack.
Fandoms: BSG/Dollhouse/Riese/Dances With Wolves/Bionic Woman/Firefly (plus appearances from Bones, Frasier, M*A*S*H*, Six Feet Under, Original-flavor Star Trek, and ST:DS9 )
Characters: Doc Cottle, Helo-Paul Ballard, Gaeta-Garin, Roslin-Stands With a Fist, Kara-Sarah Corvus, Romo-Badger
Notes: For the twelvecolonies crossover challenge. It’s a variation on a “Five Things/Times” fic, brought about because I really struggle with ideas for crossovers. I’m just not imaginative enough in the suspension of disbelief realm to make characters from different fandoms meet one another outside crack. Also, it’s not really a remix, because it’s not a remix of anything, but I wanted to use both titles and that structure was the best way I could come up with doing so.
Also, if you’re not familiar with it, Riese is a new steampunk web series. All the episodes but the first are offline right now as its creators negotiate a deal with a distributor, but their website does give a nice introduction to the universe and characters insofar as you might want to know for the fic. Also fun if you’d just like to see Connor and Gaeta dressed like weatherworn steampunk Vikings.
Typecasting (The Dancing With Myself Remix)
Chapter 1: Training Day
Dr. Cottle slouched in his chair and grumbled into his whiskey glass. The jury was still out on whether the fact that the psychiatry track was the only one at the Fictional Character Healthcare Conference that served alcohol made it worth sitting in a circle with a bunch of head shrinks. They’d even done an icebreaker, for frak’s sake. All Cottle wanted out of this damned symposium was to get his Continuing Fictional Medical Education credits as painlessly as possible. Talking about the best techniques for getting his patients to express how they feel about nuclear holocaust and the like was hardly Cottle’s idea of “painless,” so he was doing his best to tune out the discussions except whenever his own name came up.
Thus, he snapped out of a somewhat naughty daydream about the woman who’d told him that the buffet for the psychiatry track included an open bar when he heard someone say, “I know Dr. Cottle has experience with this.”
Cottle saw a few heads nod in approval of whatever he supposedly had experience with, so he nodded somberly as well.
“I completely agree,” said a nattily dressed, far too eager young man wearing a nametag that said “Hi, My Name Is Dr. Sweets.” “Seriously, I think we have a real recidivism problem.”
The thin and even more buttoned-down man named Dr. Crane rolled his eyes. “Of course you have recidivism problems, especially on dramas. Mental anguish is the whole point of a drama.”
Dr. Sweets riposted, “But I’m not even talking about a true drama. I’m the primary mental health care provider for a serio-comical procedural, and I’m seeing the trend present itself even there.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like recidivism to me. That sounds like tired, cliché writing.”
“‘Tired?’ ‘Cliché!?’ You-” The young Dr. Sweets was seething. Cottle perked up a bit and watched with more interest. The entertainment value of a fistfight between those two would more than make up for the pain of listening to everyone’s answers to the “If you were an ice cream flavor, which would you be and why?” icebreaker.
Much to Cottle’s chagrin, the moderator, Dr. Sidney Freedman, allayed the tension. “I think both Dr. Sweets and Dr. Crane have valid points. We all have to contend with scripts, so there’s only so much we can do for our patients. On the other hand, the trend of similar characters making the same mistakes over and over again, getting trapped in a cycle of self-destructive behavior, is very troubling.”
Most of the circle nodded their heads in agreement, though one woman guffawed. It was the attractive woman who’d told Cottle about the shrink meetings having booze while attempting to cop a feel. “What, you think having a wide variety of Emmy-worthy mental problems is so much better? Let me tell you, honey, I’ve been there, and though it may be more interesting to watch, it’s not any more fun to endure than having the same problem over and over again.”
Cottle tried and failed to suppress a smirk. He liked this woman.
“Your point is well taken, Dr. Chenowith,” said Dr. Freedman, “but I think it would be most productive if we focused on what steps we can take to address the problem Dr. Sweets has outlined. Does anyone have any suggestions? What do you think, Dr. McCoy? We haven’t heard much from you this afternoon.”
“Don’t look at me. I’m a doctor, not a think-tank,” grumbled the man sitting next to Cottle.
“I’m not a specialist in psychiatry, but it sounds to me as though some sort of program by which patients with similar problems could learn from one another would be an ideal solution,” said a man who looked enough like Dr. Baltar that Cottle noted that in order to maintain what little sanity the people of the Colonial Fleet had left, he’d better keep this guy away from Baltar’s cultists. And all the Sixes. And probably Mr. Gaeta, too.
“Are you suggesting something like a mentoring program, Dr. Bashir?” asked Dr. Sweets.
“Exactly.”
“All right, this sounds promising,” said Dr. Freedman. “Is there anyone here who has patients who have dealt with a lot of difficult issues and who therefore might have a lot of experiences they could share with others in similar situations, to help them find more healthy solutions?”
Cottle’s hand shot up.
Chapter 2: Do Android and Actives Dream of Chiseled-Featured Men?
“For months, I wondered, do I love her because she’s her, or do I love her because she’s programmed to be the sort of woman I would love, you know?” said Paul as he took another sip of his protein shake.
“Exactly!” Helo said, hitting Paul’s arm good-naturedly. “I spent a year circling New Caprica with nothing else to do but wonder about that. Even worse is when you realize you’ve fallen in love with someone you haven’t known for nearly as long as you thought you had. Because when I first fell in love with her, I was in love with Boomer. Then when I first slept with her, I thought she was Boomer. But in order to be in love with Athena as herself, I knew I had to love her for the ways she wasn’t Boomer.”
“Yes! Wow, I never thought I’d find somebody else who gets it,” said Paul, shifting his duffel bag on his shoulder. “The boxing gym is just around the corner, by the way.”
Helo nodded. “Good. So anyway, yeah, I completely understand where you’re coming from with Mellie. But from my experience, I’d say just hang in there, and things will work out all right in the end.”
Paul blinked in shock. “Uh, actually, I was talking about Caroline.”
Helo cocked his head. “Caroline? You mean the woman that you’ve never actually met, ever, and whom you dreamed about having necrophilic sex with?”
“Um....”
Helo stopped on the sidewalk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I have a saving people thing, too, but that? That’s not needing to be a hero. That’s just creepy.”
Paul winced. “Really?”
“Really.”
Paul sighed, and they started walking to the gym again. “Why can’t I ever fall for a woman who has just one version of herself in existence?”
Helo patted Paul on the shoulder. “Welcome to my world for the past five years, buddy.”
Chapter 3: The Revolution Will Be Deodorized
“And then he tells me he wants to scrap my thorough, meticulous, fool-proof plan for the raid that I’ve been working on for weeks so we can run around the woods looking for some girl who may not even still be alive!” Garin said, gesticulating wildly. “Never fails. Rand hears the words ‘heretic’ and ‘girl,’ and all reason flies from his brain. Do you have any idea how many female heretics there are? And yet every time, he’s certain it’s the princess.”
Felix shook his head. “Just for once, why can’t the smart, reasonable, logical guy be the leader, and the charismatic but crazy guy be his right-hand man?”
“Amen.” Garin and Felix clinked their beer bottles together in agreement.
Garin took a drink, then made a face. “But still...when he’s not being an idiot, he is a good leader. People like him enough to follow him to the mouth of hell, myself included. He does amazing things with a sword in battle, and...he’s really, really hot.”
Felix wagged his finger. “No, don’t relapse on me now. That’s the kind of thinking that gets guys like us sucked into very bad situations. And remember, we will be the ones who suffer for it, not the Rands and Gaiuses of the world.”
“But you haven’t ever seen him in person, after a battle when he’s all sweaty and-”
“Garin! No! Step away from the gorgeous destructive guy.” Felix raised his eyebrows. “Do we have to go over the Two Golden Rules of Staying Alive again?”
Garin rolled his eyes and recited, “‘One, never get involved in a mutiny, and two, find a nice, loving background character to cuddle you and frak you blind as needed.’ What does ‘frak’ mean, anyway?”
“Don’t worry. You find the right background infantryman or weapons expert, and you’ll figure it out fast enough.”
Garin still looked dejected, shoulders hunched as he fiddled absently with the clasp of his cloak.
Felix sighed. “You know I only say these things to help you, right? You need both legs in your situation.” Garin nodded, but his expression didn’t change. Felix, hunting for some way to cheer him up, finally said, “Look at it this way. Once you make it clear you’re available, you’re going to have background guys falling over themselves to get in your, uh, leggings. You rock the dirty Viking look, so much so that I almost wish I’d made it to Earth and worn animal pelts.”
Garin sat up. “That’s another thing! The animal pelts-that’s fine. We’re resistance fighters in the wilderness, living off the land, whatever. But the dirty part? We raid Sectarian outposts all the time for weapons and food. But do we ever take any of their personal hygiene products with us? Of course not. Someone can’t be bothered to be that practical.”
“I hear you. Frak, like the Cylons didn’t have extra toothpaste on their baseship-and they were even our allies by the time our supply ran out!” Felix shook his head, commiserating. “You see? If they let guys like us plan revolutions and post-apocalyptic escapes, we’d never run out of soap and toothpaste. We wouldn’t run out of anything, because we can think about consequences stretching out further than five minutes from now.”
They clinked bottles again. After Felix took a drink, he said, “That’s just ridiculous. I’m going to make sure you get a bar of soap, toothpaste, and a shaving kit to take back with you.”
“Thanks.” Garin’s eyes looked dazed and dreamy for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about this before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rand all cleaned up....”
Felix groaned and slapped his forehead.
Chapter 4: Stands With an Airlock
“Oh my gods, what I wouldn’t give to have seen the looks on their faces when you knocked that woman out cold!” Laura giggled as she skewered another strawberry and dipped it in the chocolate fondue.
Stands With a Fist popped a piece of pineapple in her mouth and smiled. “There eyes were very big, and their mouths were wide open like something had bitten their foot.”
That got both of them giggling again. When the laughter finally subsided, Laura looked at her friend and sighed. “Now I really wish I’d made it to Earth with my own hair. You’re living proof that the windswept look would have suited me really well.”
Stands With a Fist patted Laura’s arm. “I know. But they do not have this-” she pointed at the pot of warm chocolate with her fondue skewer “-where I come from, so you are very lucky there.”
“Indeed,” Laura said, emphasizing her statement by taking her time relishing a bite of chocolate-covered banana. “How did I ever live on algae?” Stands With a Fist gave Laura an odd look. “Long story-never mind.”
They munched in companionable silence for a little while, until Laura finally said, “Look, I don’t know how much help I can give you. It sounds to me like you’re doing just fine. You’re already excellent at getting your point across to stubborn people who won’t listen to reason, and I don’t think any tips I could give on airlocking techniques would be helpful in your situation, especially since your fists and your rifle are working for you so well.”
“Thank you,” Stands With a Fist said, bowing her head and blushing at the compliment. “I think maybe you could help me with one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Stands With a Fist sighed. “Dances With Wolves keeps wanting his moustache again. How did you get your man to get rid of his for good?”
Laura grinned evilly.
Chapter 5: Any Ass You Can Kick, I Can Kick Better
“Did it hurt?” Kara asked.
“Like hell,” said Sarah, leaning on her pool cue. “But it was worth it. There’s this annoying chick with a bionic arm and legs-I can kick her ass any day of the week.”
Kara knocked back the last of her glass of ambrosia and lined up her next shot. “Yeah? I killed a completely robotic chick with nothing but my own, unaltered, human bare hands.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“Fine, the fifteen-foot drop and the exposed spike on the floor below helped. But I killed this other skinjob over a dozen times, too-once just with chopsticks.”
Kara’s pool cue jerked into motion, and she swore when the seven ball ricocheted off the corner of the side pocket and settled back in the middle of the table.
“That so? Then why didn’t you beat the very human Lee Adama to a bloody pulp when you boxed with him?”
“He was pretty bloody and pulpy by the time I got done with him,” Kara shot back. “But for one, I wasn’t trying to kill him-I just wanted to muss up his face. And for two...” she leaned in and whispered, “I kind of held back.”
Sarah nodded, conceding the point. “Well, that’s nice, but no matter how strong you think you are, your eyes don’t have 2000/20 vision and an automatic scope built in, do they?”
Kara snorted. “What the frak would I need that for? Just always have a gun with a scope on it with you, because if you don’t have a gun, what else is a scope good for?”
Sarah bent over so her nose was level with the table. Her eyes flickered red for a moment. Then she aimed her cue, pulled it back, and snapped it forward. The cue ball bounced around the table like a laser-aimed pinball, and Sarah’s last three balls on the table, including the eight, rattled in the pockets. She blew off the tip of her pool cue like one would a smoking gun, then grinned at Kara.
Kara shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Sarah pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as the two headed towards the bar. “Want one?”
Kara smirked. “No, thanks. To prissy for me.” She pulled a fat cigar out of her back pocket and clamped it between her teeth. “Could use a light, though.”
Chapter 6: Birds of a Feather Fleece Together
“To be perfectly honest, besides the fact that we’re both handsome devils, I don’t see what they think we have in common,” said Romo as he brought his and Badger’s milkshakes back to their table.
Badger looked around, then pulled a flask out from underneath his pant leg and poured a little liquid into his shake.
“What’s that?”
“Finest wood alcohol money can buy,” Badger answered. He held out the flask. “Want some?”
Romo shrugged. “I’ll try anything once.”
Badger poured some into Romo’s shake and returned the flask to its hiding place. They both stirred their shakes with their straws, and Romo waited for Badger to take a drink of his first, just to make sure it was safe.
“I completely agree,” Badger said. “What does a businessman with firm roots in the communi’y ‘ave in common with a petty thief like you?”
Romo choked-whether it was the wood alcohol or the statement that was the main cause of his gag reflex kicking in, he wasn’t sure. “Excuse me? I’m the petty thief? Yes, I am a lawyer, and yes, I am used to lawyers being called a wide variety of very unsavory things, but from you?”
“Lawyers ain’t exactly my favorite scumbags in the ‘verse, either, but I was referrin’ to the wallet with the flamingo on it that you lifted from my vest pocket when you tripped on the sidewalk as we came in here.”
Romo smiled and looked at Badger over his sunglasses. He dug around in his jacket, then tossed the wallet on the table. Badger picked it up, counting the bills inside before placing it back in his vest.
“I doubt your lawyering background will ‘elp me any, but we’ll give her a shot. I got this ship’s captain who does jobs for me on occasion. Name’s Malcolm Reynolds, and ‘e’s a thorn in my side. Got all these delusions of grandeur, thinking ‘e don’t have to show me no respect just because ‘e don’t think my moral code is as good as ‘is. I’d cut ‘im loose, but I’ve been trying to get ‘is crew for my own operation for years, and they stick with the lout like glue.”
“So you want to get them to turn on their beloved authority figure and come to you instead, is that right?” Romo thought for a moment. He took his glasses off and pursed his lips. “This Reynolds character, his crew wouldn’t happen to include an idealistic child or protégé, between whom you could drive a wedge by appealing to the child’s sense of justice and righteous indignation, would he?”
Badger laughed. “’E’d never admit it, but he is the idealistic brat. Not gonna ‘appen anyway, since his righteous indignation is usually directed at me.”
“All right, then, does any of his crew have a former lover that’s one of his enemies? You could pull his or her heartstrings with a heartfelt personal anecdote, a few judicious lies, and a well-timed fake gift from the enemy. It’s amazing how much loyalty you can squeeze out of something as simple as a sob story of lost love and a nice pen.”
“Nah. I’m pretty good with manipulatin’ folks as it is, and when I can’t, I usually just have ‘em beaten up.” Badger slurped the last of his shake from the bottom of the cup. “Honestly, I’d rather just learn that pickpocketing trick of yours. Bein’ able to swipe ‘is ID and ship’s license out of ‘is coat every time I see ‘im-that’d piss ‘im off to no end, and remind ‘im who’s boss, too. Not to mention, I’m an admirer of anybody who can pull off a swindle beautiful as that.”
Romo put his glasses back on and grinned. “An admirer of talent and skill, you are, eh?”
“You kidding? Thievery, good, clean thievery-it’s an art form.”
Romo chuckled. “Mr. Badger, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”