Helen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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overlooked2009-05-18 04:41 pm
misaditas) wrote in overlooked2009-05-18 04:41 pm
Desperate Measures // Farscape // Bialar Crais
Fandom: Farscape
Claim: Bialar Crais
Theme: Set 1 - #3 - It doesn't matter
Words: 205
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Summary: Set during Family Ties, Crais contemplates his fate
All he has worked towards, all he has fought to achieve, lies in shreds around his feet. It doesn’t matter. Tauvo is dead; and he will follow his brother shortly.
He has no future beyond incarceration, court-martial, execution.
He is damned by his own hand, having tried too hard to hold on to the things he believed important. He doubts them now; the very foundations of his life shaken and uncertain.
Bialar stops pacing the length of his room and presses the heels of his hands against his temple in an attempt to alleviate the pounding headache. He can still feel the effects of the Aurora Chair, can easily recall the tearing pain. Sweat breaks out over his brow and he slides his hands down, covering his face and muffling the moan that escapes.
He has to do something - anything - to avoid his fate. He will not give Scorpius the satisfaction of ordering his death as the half-breed has done Rygel’s.
Rygel.
Bialar drops his hands to his sides, an idea slowly forming in his aching mind. He detests the little Hynerian, but not even that matters any more - all that does is that he survives. Even if that takes desperate measures.
Claim: Bialar Crais
Theme: Set 1 - #3 - It doesn't matter
Words: 205
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Summary: Set during Family Ties, Crais contemplates his fate
All he has worked towards, all he has fought to achieve, lies in shreds around his feet. It doesn’t matter. Tauvo is dead; and he will follow his brother shortly.
He has no future beyond incarceration, court-martial, execution.
He is damned by his own hand, having tried too hard to hold on to the things he believed important. He doubts them now; the very foundations of his life shaken and uncertain.
Bialar stops pacing the length of his room and presses the heels of his hands against his temple in an attempt to alleviate the pounding headache. He can still feel the effects of the Aurora Chair, can easily recall the tearing pain. Sweat breaks out over his brow and he slides his hands down, covering his face and muffling the moan that escapes.
He has to do something - anything - to avoid his fate. He will not give Scorpius the satisfaction of ordering his death as the half-breed has done Rygel’s.
Rygel.
Bialar drops his hands to his sides, an idea slowly forming in his aching mind. He detests the little Hynerian, but not even that matters any more - all that does is that he survives. Even if that takes desperate measures.
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