calling out to the astronaut [open]

[justdorothygale.livejournal.com]

"Say nightie-night and kiss.. me.. just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.."

It's stuck in his head. It's been stuck in his head for days. Just going round and round and round. Cerebral cortex on a spin cycle.

"While I'm alone and blue as can be.."

The problem is, he's used to having something to do. Used to being able to do something -- you know, fight the wacky-looking alien bad guy, rip the universe a new one, stand on his head and recite pi to fifty places -- something. Job done, go home, end credits. Over.

But now, here on Stacy Stacy Bee-Bloo Blacey, now he's got nothing to do except sit around in the grossest onesie ever and eat mush and clean Winona and try not to go even crazier because he's on a giant space meatball hurtling through time and space and he's pretty sure he saw Spock walking through the halls and he's almost certain one of the statues down in the city is Superman and the woman he loves left him for a clone of himself and his friends have all gone home and it's -- it's tough.

It's tough.

And now he's got this song stuck in his head.

"Dream a little dream of me.."

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of one of the mess hall tables, John Crichton points his pulse pistol at the stack of food trays he's set up nearby and squeezes off a shot. A squawk of red light. The trays explode into a thousand tiny bits. John raises the barrel of the pistol to his lips and blows away an invisible puff of smoke. Hasta la vista, baby.

Comments

[lastofkuith.livejournal.com]

"Would that be what is called a gun?" Pirogoeth asked, holding a tray of 'food,' standing near the spot John was sitting at the table, looking at the trays he blasted. She never had a chance to see what one actually was or what it did. Which might be obvious that it wasn't a weapon she was too familiar with with a short sword and dagger strapped to her waist.

[justdorothygale.livejournal.com]

"Nope," John replies, without looking round. He waves the pistol a little in the air, back and forth like he's conducting an invisible orchestra. Tchaikovsky, maybe. "This! Is what would be called a pulse pistol."

[lastofkuith.livejournal.com]

"A pulse pistol? How does it differ from a gun?" Pirogoeth asked, taking a seat just a bit behind him just so she didn't end up in the range of fire. However, she did find a device seemingly firing off a fire spell was interesting.

[potentialmonkey.livejournal.com]

"Y'know, there is a better place to do that." Ron said., hearing the blaster fire.

"Hnk. Yep, sensoriums," said Rufus, popping out of his owner's pocket.

[justdorothygale.livejournal.com]

John didn't even blink at the dichotomy of voices. Nor did he look over to see who was speaking. Instead, he took aim at the remaining bits of food tray. "Sorry, kid. Me and artificial reality don't mix."