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jennyo organized the Female Gen Ficathon. I wrote a backup for lyssie, who requested Noranti & Chiana, a rainy planet, guns, and a little smuggling.

Title: Eight Chemical Kisses
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Farscape
Characters: Chiana & Noranti
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: I'm on a diet from death.
Notes: S4, no spoilers

Chiana doesn't get the old woman, always frelling around the kitchen, tossing herbs and beetles and spit into a pot. It never tastes good, what she cooks, and it never does what she says it will.

Chiana's glad she'll never get old--she won't, because she refuses. Smelling like bog, getting all wrinkled and bent. It's depressing, and she tells Noranti so.

Noranti smiles. "Old?" she says. "I'll never be old. I refuse."

Chiana scowls and stalks away.


Aeryn winces, once, after a starburst, and tilts her head from side to side.

Crichton decides, atop Aeryn's exasperated glare, this means she needs ritahki nectar and something called fuzzy slippers.

What this leads to, naturally, is a quick raid of Rygel's closet for two bolts of fine cloth he's been using for who knows what ("I don't want to know," Crichton barks out over Rygel's protests), a scan of a nearby commerce planet, and Crichton's solemn promise that no jewelry will pass through Moya's corridors without first being offered to Chiana.

When Noranti twirls into the transport pod, however, Chiana turns as calmly as possible to Crichton. He punches a few buttons on the console and bites his lip.

Chiana hisses, and stalks to the far side of the pod.

Noranti seats herself on the opposite end, and hums.


They aren't five steps out of the pod when Noranti reaches out and snags Crichton's sleeve, whirls him around like it's a dance.

"Granny!" he exclaims, and Noranti hushes him, points with her tongue.

There's a Scarran at the edges of the market, and Crichton mutters and falls back.

"Chi," he snaps out. "You can do this?"

"Come on, Crichton." Chiana straightens, jerks her chin up. "Course I can."

He stares at her, sighs, and turns back to the pod.

Noranti slings an arm around Chiana's waist. "I do love a market," she says, then shakes a packet of something spicy-sweet in front of Chiana's nose.

Chiana blinks. "That isn't--"

"Only a little contraband," Noranti sings out. "It's quite popular on this planet, I think."

Chiana laughs.


There are guards at the edge of the marketplace. Five of them. The way the third one on the left is scratching his tentacle, however, is encouraging.

Noranti mutters something underneath her breath, digs into one of the pouches at her belt. Chiana shakes her head, smacks her on the shoulder.

"Let me," she croons into the air, and sidles up to the guards with a shake and a sway.

The third guard stares, the first one scowls. Chiana hones in on the fourth, and traces the outline of his gun with her fingers.

"We can trade here, can't we?" she asks, and squeezes.

The guard swallows, and one of his tentacles brushes against Chiana's shoulder. "You are welcome," he says, and the words are precise with practice.

"A permit," Noranti demands, and holds out her hand with a smirk.


They sell the cloth for a tidy sum, and Noranti hammers out a trade for the ritahki nectar, plus a sackful of herbs and dust Chiana can't identify.

At her inquiry, Noranti shrugs and spits. "None of your business," she summarizes neatly, and asks Crichton, via commlink, if "fuzzy slippers" are anything like the beetles from Kleepa Fourn.

"Never mind," he clips out over the link. "Just get some food."

Noranti stuffs the commlink down the front of her dress, and Chiana averts her eyes.


They're almost past the center of the market when the first guard catches up to them. He barks out something about contraband, but Chiana doesn't hear him over her panic.

He grabs her arm, and she hisses. Kicks out, hits him low on his third joint, but he only grunts and tightens his grip.

She twists her head, tries to bite him, but Noranti's yanking back on his ruff. Chiana watches as Noranti's lips puff, and a dark grit flies into the guard's eye.

He releases Chiana's arm, and Noranti drags him back slow. Then two quick strikes, and he's down.

"Wow," Chiana says, and shoves her toe against his joint. He only groans. "Thanks, Noranti."

"Yes," Noranti replies, then clucks her tongue.

She looks sad, and Chiana doesn't understand why.

They move on.


With most of the rest of their profits, they arrange for supplies to be sent to the pod. Protein, some dried fruit. Nothing fancy.

They've just finished negotiations when the sky darkens, and rain starts pouring down. Their dealer waves off, goes to arrange for the food.

Chiana ducks under the eaves of a bar, wipes fat droplets of water from her eyes. Her skin stings from the force of the rain, and maybe some faint trace of chemical in the water. She rests her back against the wall of the building, and turns her head.

Beside her, Noranti extends her arms, and collects the rain in her hands.

Chiana comms Crichton, tells him to expect a delivery. There's no rush, so silently, they stand underneath the eaves.

The marketplace empties as the rain continues to fall. Chiana scowls at the sludge forming under her feet.

"We should go," Noranti announces suddenly, and steps out into the rain. At first her movements are precise, then her arms swing out, and she spins on her toes. She tosses her head, and her garments swirl around her legs.

Noranti is dancing.

Chiana twitches. "You really are crazy," she observes.

Noranti raises her arms to the sky, then peers at Chiana, still huddling under the eaves.

"Maybe," she responds. Her third eye is open and green. "Or maybe it's the rest of you." She rushes forward, reaches out and taps China on the forehead. "Try looking the other way."

Chiana shivers, then steps out from under her shelter.

"Let's just get off this frelling planet, all right?"

Noranti hums, and skips ahead.


When they finally reach the pod, Chiana's feet are encased in sludge, and Noranti's hair is plastered into ratty coils.

Crichton starts to laugh, but under Chiana's glare, he stifles it to a smirk. "You got the stuff?" he asks.

"Here," Chiana snaps, and hands him the flask.

Crichton takes it and twirls it in his hands. "I'm in your debt, Pip," he says, and lands a kiss on her nose.

"There is also this," Noranti says. With due ceremony presents him with a handful of seeds, prickly with fluff. "Foo-sen klifters. A delicacy."

Crichton looks at Chiana. She shrugs.

"Thanks," he says, and takes the seeds from Noranti. "I guess."

Noranti smiles, and lifts her chin for a kiss.


Back on Moya, Chiana gets bored. She goes back to the dark pit Noranti's claimed, in what used to function as a kitchen.

Noranti's hovering in the corner, so Chiana hops onto the counter and stares into a cauldron as it spews a cloud of steam. "What's that?" She picks up a spoon, tosses it into the pot. "Smells like dren."

Noranti looks at her briefly, the looks away.

Chiana recoils and spits, loses balance for a second, and ends up sprawled on the floor.

Noranti strolls around her. "It's only meerapsh."

Chiana lifts her head. "Really?"


Chiana wrinkles her nose. "That'd better not be dinner."

"Maybe," Noranti repeats, and sips a spoonful of the brew with a smile.


A/N: Title and summary adapted from Anne Sexton's The Addict.

Originally linked here and here.



( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jun. 4th, 2006 07:06 am (UTC)
Oooo. Very nice characterizations. I hadn't realized these two characters were particularly nice counterpoints to each other.

I adore the way you build an atmosphere.

Jun. 5th, 2006 11:22 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much! I'm thrilled you liked it!
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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