by Xenutia
Disclaimer: Um...I own this story. Oh, and the title. I even own the big guy at the slot machines. But I don't own Harper, Trance, Andromeda, or any elements of the show. Tribune owns them, and boy am I jealous (especially over Harper).
Rating: I'll say PG. Some of the suggestions the big slot-machine guy makes are a bit...suggestive for five-year-olds, if ya know what I mean.
Summary: Counterpart and accompaniment to I Like My Women Sparkly'. You don't have to have read that to read this, though, they can stand alone. What does Trance make of the situation?
Author's Notes: No spoilers in this one. I wasn't originally planning on a sequel' to Sparkly', but people seemed to like it, so I thought I could do more. I'm not sure if there'll be a part 3 or not, watch this space. There will be two or possibly three sequels to Let There Be Light', though.
***
She regarded the mountain of gold and silver nestled in her cupped hands, her head tilted to one side, squinting a little in the poor lighting and opaque white smoke of the bar. All this money - there must be hundreds of thrones just counting the pile she held, and more was gathered in her lap, more than she felt compelled to count. But there her interest ended. She liked to win, liked the wealth of possibilities opening to her, liked the pretty lights of the machines and their trilling bells when the money came pouring out; she liked to see the incredulous envy on the faces of the people around her, sometimes exasperated at the greed in their eyes, other times amused at their open-mouthed wonder. She liked to know she had been right. But this...
The truth was, she didn't want the money. And now that she had it, huddled in a clinking heap that caught the light of the lamps and lost the occasional coin to gravity, sliding from her thigh and onto the floor with a hollow ring, she didn't know what to do with it.
She had everything she needed, on the Andromeda. Perhaps even...perhaps even everything she wanted. No, not quite everything she wanted, she ammended. But money wouldn't help her there. What need did she have for money? She had a home, work she enjoyed, friends she cared for like a family, she had excitement and adventure and lots of pretty things...all of this was meangingless.
A shadow fell over her as she picked restlessly at the coins, studying the strange alien faces and numerals engraved on them, some old, some new. So many people used credit accounts these days, but there was something beautiful about this solid currency. It felt more real than the recompense they offered for fuel and parts on the Andromeda. She found one with a familiar feel to the image on the back, and realised with a slight thrill that this one was a human face. Human, Than, Perseid...but none like her.
No, never anything like her.
They're pretty, aren't they? a voice said over her.
Trance glanced up, startled, but relaxed when she saw the man speaking to her. He was tall, broad, black hair fashioned carefully with oil and his leather clothes creaking minutely as he moved. She smiled, pleased that somebody agreed with her.
They are, she said, a little wistfully. But I just don't want all this money.
The man leaned his tanned, muscular arm on the back of her chair, his booted foot kicked up on the nearby low table, and returned her smile, slowly. Well, maybe you and I could go someplace more quiet and spend it together.
On what?
He reached over her, and plucked the topmost coin from the mound, rolling it delicately between his thick, blunt fingers. She couldn't help but compare them to other fingers she knew...ones that mended, fixed, hands that were nimble and light with long, artistic fingers and chewed nails...
I'm sure we could find something. And I'm curious to know what else you're good at.
The hand slipped the coin into a concealed pocket and before Trance knew what was happening, those meaty fingers were tracing her hair back from her neck, and the strong, cloying scent of powerful cologne swamped her as he came closer.
she said, and scooted away, eyes wide.
Especially with this, he continued, and, very gently, tweaked her tail. I've never tried a purple girl before.
Trance leapt to her feet, and turned on him. Oh, didn't you know? she said sweetly. Her eyelashes batted, calculated, her lips curled charmingly in a secret, delicious smile. She stole a glance over to the bar, where a compact, pale skinned and pale-haired young man sat, nursing a half-full shot glass. Purple girls prefer blondes.
The man leered, his formally pleasant smile curling into something far more sinister; then, slowly, he stomped away, taking his fat fingers with him.
Trance nodded, satisfied.
Yes, she had everything she wanted...almost.