FARTSCAPE: A Tale of Flatulence & Food
By Iris Green
© Iris Green 2002

<< Continued from part 2

John continued walking until he reached command, stopping every few feet to let out another one as he went.  He didn't know how much more he could take of it.  And the smell, if anything, was starting to bother him a little.  Upon reaching command he saw Aeryn, D'Argo, and Chiana all gathered around a console while Rygel floated in some other corner in the room.

"Hey guys," he greeted, his words complimented by a short, staccato, wheezing noise.

Aeryn put her hand over her mouth and tried to not to laugh.  While Chiana and D'Argo both held their noses, trying to be discreet about it.

But it wasn't discreet and John noticed.  Still he said nothing.  "Hey D, ready to fix that conduit for Pilot?"

A pained look crossed D'Argo's face and he held his nose even more.  "I ... um ..."

"WHAT THE YOTZ SMELLS SO AWFUL?" Rygel complained from where he was perched.  "My nose is being horrendously offended!"

"It's your fault Sparky," John retorted.

"How in the hezmana is it my fault?"

"You and your dumb soup.  I ate it last night and woke up with all of this."

"Well I ate some and I'm fine," he claimed.

"As did I John," Zhaan commented, who had just walked into command.

"Well ... well .." He couldn't think of anything to say.  "Fine.  I'll be working on the conduit if anyone needs me."

And with that he left command ... but not before cutting one in the doorway.

Aeryn took her hand from her mouth and started laughing.  Rygel held covered his nostrils with his robe.  Chiana buried her nose in her gloves.  And D'Argo tried not to inhale.

John went to the conduit, tossing his comm beside him, deciding not to answer if anyone called.  He took off his tool belt and pulled what he needed from it to start working.  Being by himself wasn't all that bad.  But even the smell of his own flatulence was starting to irritate him.  He tried to ignore it and went to work.

Working by yourself was lonely, he decided.

D'Argo put on his sand mask, hoping it would block some of the smell.  But he knew it wasn't going to work as he rounded the corner near the conduit he and John were supposed to be fixing.  Still, he had promised to help.  And John would take forever if he had to do it alone.

Sighing, he sat down beside John and picked up a few tools.  John glanced over at the Luxan and then returned to his work.  D'Argo noticed and took off his mask for John's sake.  But he was almost tempted to slide it back on when a tiny wheezing noise, almost inaudible, reached his ears.

"Sorry ..." John said gruffly.

"What?" D'Argo tried to pretend like no apology was needed.

"I'm sorry you have to work in my stink."

"Oh."  He took his hand away from his nose.  "It's not that bad."

John gave him a 'yeah right' look and then returned to his work.  They sat in silence for a few moments more until John had to let one go again ... this one silent, but deadly.

D'Argo, in the midst of tightening a wire, paused to sniff the air.  His nose twitched and he tried not to let it wrinkle in disgust.

John noticed.  "Man, would you just give it a rest?!" he screamed, getting up and throwing his tools to the floor.

He stormed off down the hall, leaving behind a confused D'Argo.




Okay, another part done.  They're short, I know.  But not every part can be fifteen pages long like Home Again and it's sequel.  So deal with it.  Ah, this plot line is staggering.  All I'm working with is my initial idea and how hilarious I want this ending to be.  The ending will be hilarious.  As for these middle parts -- bear with me.

Oh wait, a great idea for the next part hit me.  Oh dear, it'll be funny.
But you all will have to wait.


(here's the rest as promised)

"... so they gave me splish, splash, puss on top,
Monkey varmint and elephant snot.
Put it all together and mix it with glue,


Fartscape continues with part 4 >>

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Disclaimer: Farscape is owned by Jim Henson ... Hey, there's news ... NOT! ... anyway, I don't own this wonderful sci-fi show and I don't own any of the magnificent characters on it (though I wish I did) and I swear on Farscape and all that's holy (which is Farscape) that I don't plan on making any money off of this or it.

Rating: PG-13
Archiving:  Go right ahead, yesiree ... all I ask is that you give me credit.
Feedback:  Please R/R ... and to give me further feedback email me at aerynsun01@yahoo.com
Spoilers: Nada ... nopers
Timeline: Before third season I'd say.

Summary: Rygel prepares dinner and John eats like a starving man.  The only problem is ... well, I'll let you figure it out.  I promise tons of laughs and tons of fun and tons of flatulence.

Author's Note:  This is merely a side project to help keep my sanity as I work my way through For Everything There Is A Season .  Don't worry, you'll all have plenty of my other story as well as plenty of this.  It only means that I'll be working harder to bring you great stuff.  And I can do that.  But I have to get this story out of my head and onto the screen of my computer.  And I wanted to get it up before my idea was stolen.  You never know who could be overhearing my conversations with myself.

Credit Where Credit's Due:  TOMMY -- you know who you are.  You hate Farscape, you hate science fiction and all you ever do is watch the news and listen to Bluegrass.  But you make fun of my most favorite TV show by calling it "Fartscape" and that was enough to spawn this hopefull mediocre fic.  THANK YOU SO MUCH!

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