Spring Fling - Go Dancing [J/C]
Title: Go Dancing
Disclaimer: Not mine. Only having fun. Paramount own the Voyager characters. The music industry own the souls of the musicians I kinda half loosely based the band on.
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for VAMB Spring Fling. I just hope that the recipient likes it. No children or babies are here (as asked. :D)
Go Dancing
Commander Chakotay crept into the Ready Room. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It was too silent, as if he had been the first one in there since the start of the day. Then he spotted it, hidden in the corner.
He was going to kill B’Elanna.
Somehow, in the calmest of calm times, Kathryn and B’Elanna had found trouble for themselves. Not pleased with the transporters as they were, they fiddled.
And not just the educated fiddling that seemed logical; this was the fiddling dictated by female intuition and feminine logic. Chakotay was worried by the mere thought of their feminine logic. It always confused the dickens out of him, and as such Kathryn could explain away a night of passion and love as, ‘A momentary lapse of feminine logic.’
And he was technically right to be worried. The tests showed that their tinkering had mad the transporters work fourteen percent more efficiently. However (yet another word that worried Chakotay), when tested, by the women themselves, fourteen percent made them fourteen years old in mind and spirit. And they were hellions!
They were hellions who wore heavy make-up and black plastic bracelets. The type of hellions who liked music - heavy rock music. ‘Thank the spirits they weren’t,’ he gulped, ‘babies!’ He sighed as he reached the holodeck. ‘Here I go.’
“Throw your hands up in the air!” The crowed screamed. The lead singer led the masses in a hysterical angst ridden rendition of a song that went nowhere in a circular manner. There wasn’t a pastel shirt or fluorescent tie anywhere in the room. Everything was dark and morbid, but somehow electric and energetic. Every eye was lined in black, decorated in deep crimson shadow. Here was where Chakotay found them.
“Oh my god B’Elanna, I forgot how great these guys were! Especially the guitarist wearing the tiara!”
“I wonder if they speak in tongues?” B’Elanna yelled as they bounced to the music.
“What do you mean?” Kathryn yelled back. B’Elanna grinned, stopped bouncing, and snogged the air. “Oh! That speaking in tongues!” They giggled slightly and sang, chanting their way through more songs that they loved.
Chakotay rolled his eyes, his eyeliner free eyes, and stalked up to the women. They suddenly decided that they wanted to spin around. “Kathryn!” She kept on singing. “Kathryn!” The music kept playing.
“Hey look! It’s the old dude!” B’Elanna yelled, laughing her socks off.
‘Old?’ Chakotay thought bemusedly.
Kathryn grabbed his hand. “Dance with us!”
“Kathryn, the Doctor needs to see you!”
“I’m busy!” she replied, with the haughtiness of a teenager.
“You’re fourteen! Fourteen year olds are never busy!”
“Go to hell! Come on B’El, let’s get closer!” The two turned their backs to him. He noted, depressed, that Kathryn’s normal bob was streaked crimson and black.
Time passes.
‘Oh well,’ Chakotay thought, face heavy with white foundation and black eyeliner, ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’
Rach xxx
Disclaimer: Not mine. Only having fun. Paramount own the Voyager characters. The music industry own the souls of the musicians I kinda half loosely based the band on.
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for VAMB Spring Fling. I just hope that the recipient likes it. No children or babies are here (as asked. :D)
Go Dancing
Commander Chakotay crept into the Ready Room. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It was too silent, as if he had been the first one in there since the start of the day. Then he spotted it, hidden in the corner.
He was going to kill B’Elanna.
Somehow, in the calmest of calm times, Kathryn and B’Elanna had found trouble for themselves. Not pleased with the transporters as they were, they fiddled.
And not just the educated fiddling that seemed logical; this was the fiddling dictated by female intuition and feminine logic. Chakotay was worried by the mere thought of their feminine logic. It always confused the dickens out of him, and as such Kathryn could explain away a night of passion and love as, ‘A momentary lapse of feminine logic.’
And he was technically right to be worried. The tests showed that their tinkering had mad the transporters work fourteen percent more efficiently. However (yet another word that worried Chakotay), when tested, by the women themselves, fourteen percent made them fourteen years old in mind and spirit. And they were hellions!
They were hellions who wore heavy make-up and black plastic bracelets. The type of hellions who liked music - heavy rock music. ‘Thank the spirits they weren’t,’ he gulped, ‘babies!’ He sighed as he reached the holodeck. ‘Here I go.’
“Throw your hands up in the air!” The crowed screamed. The lead singer led the masses in a hysterical angst ridden rendition of a song that went nowhere in a circular manner. There wasn’t a pastel shirt or fluorescent tie anywhere in the room. Everything was dark and morbid, but somehow electric and energetic. Every eye was lined in black, decorated in deep crimson shadow. Here was where Chakotay found them.
“Oh my god B’Elanna, I forgot how great these guys were! Especially the guitarist wearing the tiara!”
“I wonder if they speak in tongues?” B’Elanna yelled as they bounced to the music.
“What do you mean?” Kathryn yelled back. B’Elanna grinned, stopped bouncing, and snogged the air. “Oh! That speaking in tongues!” They giggled slightly and sang, chanting their way through more songs that they loved.
Chakotay rolled his eyes, his eyeliner free eyes, and stalked up to the women. They suddenly decided that they wanted to spin around. “Kathryn!” She kept on singing. “Kathryn!” The music kept playing.
“Hey look! It’s the old dude!” B’Elanna yelled, laughing her socks off.
‘Old?’ Chakotay thought bemusedly.
Kathryn grabbed his hand. “Dance with us!”
“Kathryn, the Doctor needs to see you!”
“I’m busy!” she replied, with the haughtiness of a teenager.
“You’re fourteen! Fourteen year olds are never busy!”
“Go to hell! Come on B’El, let’s get closer!” The two turned their backs to him. He noted, depressed, that Kathryn’s normal bob was streaked crimson and black.
Time passes.
‘Oh well,’ Chakotay thought, face heavy with white foundation and black eyeliner, ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’
Rach xxx