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FARTSCAPE: A Tale of Flatulence & Food
By Iris Green
© Iris Green 2002
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<< Continued from part 3

John stormed through Moya's halls, upset and frustrated and in need of a break.  What he thought had been a wonderful dinner had turned into a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.  He was ripping them off one after another as he walked and DRDs scattered as they saw him approaching.  He growled as he passed a few cowering behind a bulkhead and headed straight for the one place he hoped he'd find a cure.

He reached Zhaan's apothecary and was both relieved and disappointed that it was empty.  He was relieved by the fact that Zhaan would not be there for him to chase off with his stink.  His flatulence had not relented and was, in fact, becoming more intense.  They were now silent, but their stench compensated for the loss.  He was disappointed that she wasn't there, because he needed her help to find a cure.  As he gazed around at all the bottles and jars, he knew it would be difficult to find what he needed.

As he started searching through one of the top shelves he realized he had no idea what it was he was looking for.  There were blue bottles, green jars, red packages, and leafy orange plants.  Everything was foreign and he didn't know what it was that would do the trick.

"Damn, " he muttered to himself as he pushed aside more bottles and jars, "Next time I do a mission like this I gotta remember to pack the Pepto-Bismol."  His stomach did a somersault inside him and he clench it briefly.  "Oh crap, not again."

John darted his head around, looking for the door to Zhaan's cleansing chamber.  But he couldn't find it.  And then he remembered there wasn't one in her apothecary.  He groaned and then hurried out of the chamber, trying to hold off what was ready to come.  Running at top speed and leaping over DRDs in a single bound, he made his way to the nearest unoccupied cells which was a few tiers down.  It was a matter of microts before he was inside the cleansing chamber with the door shut, vents open, and his pants down.

He was sure his relieved sigh echoed throughout Moya ... as well as the grotesque clangor that followed.
 

Zhaan padded peacefully to her apothecary, greeted by a foul oddor as she stepped inside.  She shook her head at the shelves that were in disarray.

"John's been here," she said quietly as she went to straighten up.

Rearranging the bottles, she vigorously pondered a way to relieve the human of what was ailing him.  There had to be something that would fix the problems in his digestive system.  The Delvian strode across her apothecary to the far shelves that were usually left untouched by herself due to lack of use.  She examined the bottles that were there, trying to remember what each liquid and substance did.

"I'll need to talk to John a bit more if I am to find the solution."  And then she wrinkled her nose at the thought of finding him.

Still, it had to be done.

With a scented cloth over her nostrils, she set out to find John, heading in the direction a half-rusted DRd had just come from.  *This way.*
 

She found the empty cell he was in in no time because more DRDs had been scurrying from that direction.  Zhaan cautiously entered the room and noticed the cleansing chamber door was closed.  She moved closer and soon was able to hear a fierce grunting coming from behind the door.  This was followed by a sigh and then plopping noises and the sound of something splashing into something else.  She shook her head and tried to continue.

(SIDE NOTE:  Okay, this is getting gross.  Even for me.  Yucky!)

"John," she called out, "Are you in there?"  Zhaan knew it was him, but still felt it necessary to confirm.

"Yeah, Zhaan, " He paused to groan and grunt and relieve himself, "It's me."

She tried to suppress the need to vomit.  "I want to um, to help you."

John considered this for a moment.  "No thanks.  I wouldn't want to kill you with my stench.  You never know what effects this ..." Another burst and groan.  "... might have on plants."

She backed up a little, deciding he could be right.  "Yes, John, but this can not be good for yourself either."

Zhaan paused to listen for a response.  There was some ruffling, followed by a groan, and then the sound of the receptacle flushing.  The door to the cleansing chamber opened moments later and John's overwhelming stench flew out.  Zhaan braced herself against the wall.

"See, even you can't stand this."  He wanted to help right her, but feared moving closer.

She stood up again.  "I'm quite fine."  Zhaan still moved back a bit.  "But I'd like to help you by at least finding a compound that would relieve you."

"Like what?  I'm sure there's no Pepto or Immodium here in the UT."

Zhaan shook her head.  Her microbes didn't catch a word he had said.  "Well, uh, perhaps not, but I still might be able to create some sort of solution."  She dared a step closer.  "But I need to know certain things about your species first," her nose and face wrinkled at the next thought, "And I would need samples to work with."

John groaned.  Zhaan wanted to.

=/\=

END OF PART FOUR

=/\=

Next part shall come soon and a mass amount of reviews will be what heralds it.  So in other words, no reviews, no fifth part.  Actually, my stomach and tolerance for gross-ness will be the deciding factor.  This is becoming more gross than ever thought possible.  Oh well.  I'll survive.

Cheers,

IRIS GREEN

"A yellow bird, came down one day,
And landed on, my windowsill.
I lured him in, with a piece of bread,
And then I smashed his LITTLE HEAD!"

(sorry, I'm reminiscing about all these songs my odd uncle
taught me before he got me hooked on scifi)

Fartscape continues with part 5 >>

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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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