A/N: The more I think about Vortians, the more I am fascinated by them. Particularly Lard Nar. From what I have concluded about him, he isn't the greatest candidate for a leadership position.
It is interesting to imagine what he must have felt when he first formed the Resisty. I wonder what he felt like when he found out about the Vort sweep, about the Empire… about everything. A small little Vortian, pitted against all odds, shoved into an unfamiliar leadership position! He must have been overwhelmed. This snippet is my attempt at explaining those feelings.
Note: I understand that some of the wording in this sounds like a Lard Nar x Spleenk pairing… but I assure you, it's not. X_x
The Vortian was alone, small and thin in the fullness of the bar.
The room itself was alive with people--but the gray alien had managed to diminish himself in the space of a stagnant corner, surrounded by unoccupied seats and dim lights.
He sat, thinking, as he always did.
His crew was off and about; jolly in the more vivacious areas of the bar, submitting to their own pleasures or wandering about the general neighborhood. These leisure breaks--though the Vortian made it seem like they were for the enjoyment of the entire crew--were the scientist's opportunities to go off and think.
Alienated.
Shoved into his irresolute corner, separated from the rest of his followers where he could break down and question himself.
He felt, more than not, that his position as a leader was a poor decision; imposed suddenly, leaving him ill-adjusted to his crew.
In his mind, he socialized with them--certainly. But in his heart, they were strangers.
Ah, such strangers.
Often, he begged his unyielding heart to scrape its gates open--but as it happened, they remained barred by the fear he would open them too much. Letting in twisted enemies among his friends.
And so, they remained closed.
Remained closed; agonizing him, dancing around every moment he had with his crew--spitting and calling him a liar, a two-face, a robot.
He sunk deeply into his thoughts, becoming deaf to the outside world.
Through the pale green of his goggles he focused on the bar counter, wondering how many troubled souls had passed and sat in the same spot.
"Ah, hey."
The bartender seemed to have noticed his troubled customer, so distant where he sat; a wretched little man.
"...Hey. Hello, sir?"
He wondered if he had fallen asleep--some freaky ones could do that with their eyes open--and spoke a bit louder.
"...Hello!"
Lard Nar's mind disengaged from its separate reality, antennae flopping as his physical body came up with a start.
His eyes widened in the faint lighting and focused on the bar tender--a willowy alien, dressed gawkily in his bar uniform.
"Ah, sorry, thought you were sleeping," came an unsure apology. The alien half lidded his eyes and looked around nervously, as if he had committed some horrible crime.
"Er, oh. That's alright," Lard Nar said mechanically, feeling too awkward to make proper conversation after being stirred out of his thoughts. "...I was just thinking."
The bartender blinked at him with small, unintelligent green eyes.
"Ah. Well, thinking is better than being really drunk or sleeping, I guess," he continued earnestly.
Lard Nar shifted uncomfortably; he really wasn't in the mood to pursue a conversation. Should have sat at the lounge or something, he told himself scoldingly, but figured he would be bothered by someone either way.
The bartender didn't receive an answer and stood awkwardly. He suddenly started, as if remembering his original purpose for talking to Lard Nar.
"Oh! Ah, do you want anything to drink? You look kind of lonely," he bumbled. "And most people who look kinda lonely want to get drunk... because things..." the twig alien trailed off, seeing the look on Lard Nar's face.
"And anyway, I've got one more drink quota to fill before I can get off, so..."
His mouth quivered sheepishly.
Lard Nar mustered an indefinite amount of patience, sighing heavily.
Figures. He's only talking to me because he wants something.
Well, if it gets this guy off my back...
"Sure. Just get me some Zondervanic rum."
"Heavy?"
"Yes."
"Want anything with that?"
"No."
The bartender blinked at him, before turning around and pouring a glass.
He slid it over and Lard Nar fiddled with it, mumbling a word of "thanks".
The Vortian stared distantly into the wall, expecting the gangly bartender to go away. Lard Nar wasn't in the mood to get drunk--nor was he much of a casual drinker, so he hoped he would be left alone.
But the bartender apparently found some kind of connection to him, because he kept talking. Awkward and lonely, away from the other customers--a prisoner in his own work.
He often picked up on the customers who were here because of some kind of problem. Most were relationship related--but in some cases, there were the ones who went deeper than that, who focused on an issue of the self. Those were the interesting ones, the ones he could relate to.
Despite Lard Nar's standoffishness, the bartender pursued a conversation. He fiddled with the cuffs of his uniform, dropping any sort of professional obligation or behavior.
"...You know, they make me work over here because most people sit over there." He gestured, half-lidding those green eyes. His tone was soft and mellow, carrying a sort of honest vulnerability.
This tone piqued Lard Nar's interest; he looked up again, watching the twig alien's face. There was something about his expression--the way he gingerly approached him. No one had done that before.
"Is that so."
"Yeah, because even though I work with 'em, I'm too dumb or clumsy to do much stuff right." He bit his lip. "And even if I try, nothing works. 'Cuz they think I'll mess things up more, and then I start to think that, too."
Lard Nar regarded him with a slack expression, continuing to search his face.
He couldn't figure this one out. Usually people were easy to analyze, pick apart; but this unnamed bartender was like an unlocked puzzle...
"What's your name?"
"Spleenk, sir."
"Hm."
"Can I ask what your's is, sir?"
At this, the Vortian hesitated. Ah, he always hated telling people his name. It never failed to bring about some kind of chuckle; stifled or otherwise. Though, he found, his name was a test of sorts--if a person took it unflinchingly, that meant they were accepting. As for the others...
"...It's Lard Nar. But most people call me 'Nar' for short."
He waited, biting his lip.
Spleenk made no indication that he found it funny--simply nodded, accepting it as a fact.
"You here alone, sir?"
"No. I'm with my crew--they... tend to be more social than I am," he admitted, surprising himself as he did so. But then again, he was surprised (and glad) that Spleenk hadn't laughed at his name.
"A crew?" Spleenk's eyes widened slightly, and he laughed for the first time. "Ah, sir, that's so cool! Traveling around all the time and living on a ship...! Are you the captain?"
Lard Nar smiled haggardly, caught in Spleenk's infectious enthusiasm.
"Yes, I am. But it's always nice to stop and relax for a whi--"
His head turned as Spleenk poured himself a drink, set it in front of the chair next to him, and scurried around the bar before sitting next to the Vortian.
"Ah, sorry, hope you don't mind, but I've always wondered what it's like livin' abroad..." his eyes were wide and bright. "Instead of being stuck here or job-hopping. You know? What's your crew do, sir?"
Lard Nar forgot about the drink in his hand, completely engrossed by roused bartender. He cleared his throat, hearing an odd bit of embarrassed pride betray his voice.
"We're a resistance."
And after he said that, Spleenk was inconsolable.
---
They spoke for a while.
Lard Nar found his tongue loosened after quite a few sips of his Zondervanic rum--strong stuff, it was.
He found himself opening up to this new stranger, sizing him up and wondering if he could offer him a position on his ship. As of now, the Vortian allowed himself to ramble about his feelings on the Vort crisis. There were many--but he focused on his attitude towards his position as a leader... drawn by the bar tender's strange openness.
He cleared his throat.
"...But you know how it is. So many dots... going through a stage of intermittent existence. And those dots belong to a hierarchy of other dots, dots that populate the universe--in fact, our universe itself is a small dot among a sea of them."
He sat, ruminating.
"Well... it makes you feel bloody insignificant. Makes you wonder if it's worth anything at all. Makes you wonder if you can do anything at all."
Spleenk sat, a look of concentration crossing his face. It was solemn, with a pronounced sageliness the scientist had never seen before.
Reflected in that olive face... its dim perception of everything wrong with the world, displayed in a simple innocence.
"Ah, sir, you can look at a city from far away," he began, in his own, simple way. "But it doesn't make it any less significant, right? The cure for something mighta been developed there, mighta saved a whole planet... but if you look at it in your context, that wouldn't matter."
A pause.
"They coulda started some advancement--and ah... I don't know, cuz I'm not all that smart--and that coulda shaped the rest of the universe. Right? Like space travel. Who were the guys who invented space travel? They came from a little planet, but look what they did."
Those glossed eyes blinked with a shining reverence in the dim light of the bar.
Lard Nar rested his head on his hands, feeling a cavernous emptiness course through him.
"Maybe," he began, and faltered, unsure of that word. "Maybe."
"Ey, just because a mountain is big doesn't mean you can't climb it," Spleenk ventured again, fiddling with the drink in one of his hands.
"Spleenk, it's..." the scientist began, and faltered again. Words, they betrayed him. Words, he was never good with them. Words; they were deceitful and mocking, they reared their heads in tossing laughter and left him reeling in the darkness of his incoherentness.
"It's so overwhelming. The thought of... everything. Rebuilding and--and resuscitating. I feel as if it's all... hollow. Like it's waiting to be filled with some grand potential, but..."
He shook his head, at a loss.
"Ah, can't find that potential, right?"
Spleenk's eyes were half-lidded, emanating that same wisdom and patience Lard Nar so sorely needed.
It was intoxicating, almost. It drew him in, stumbling in the light of innocence. Of complete and utter openness and neutrality; where nothing he said would be used against him, patted away in that simple mind.
"No," his voice was husked with the admission of his own faults. Dry and papery; scraping against the blackboard of his mind.
"I... can't. It's just not there anymore, I think."
"But sir, don't you think that's the problem?"
A smile curved across the small of his face, gaunt and sallow.
The scientist blinked, uncomprehending.
"What's the problem?"
"You think it's not there anymore, sir. Ah, but you're not feeling."
He presented the matter in a simple elegance; like the curve of a swan, an arc of logic so flawlessly streaking on still water.
Feeling. What an intrinsic word. Snaking back to the reason that defined them as sentient beings--but a word Lard Nar grappled at without redemption.
That openness--whatever it was--that charisma pulled at his depths, lulling words forward. Caressing his throat as they passed and liquefied through the barriers of his mind.
He ached to say something conclusive, something that didn't come from his brain or rationality. But alas, the final barrier stifled this; the gap between his throat and his mouth.
"...I'm sorry, Spleenk."
He paused. Forcing a sharpness to edge his words as they passed through his surreal reality.
"But I don't see where this is going."
Spleenk dipped his head humbly.
"Well, you're a scientist, right?"
"Yes."
"And to get results 'er whatever, you need to look at things without feeling, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, sir"--and at this, Spleenk put two of his hands together, conclusively--"Leadership isn't science."
Lard Nar frowned, staring into the depths of his drink. He was nearly halfway through, but didn't feel the need to finish it. He was hardly compelled to--hardly compelled to do anything outwardly at all, in fact.
His mind reeled, struggling to comprehend Spleenk's words.
As if he sensed this wordless analysis, Spleenk continued.
"There isn't a leadership formula, you know? Nothing concrete 'er whatever set out for you. I guess it sort of is like science, because you've got to experiment..." he paused again. "But you experiment in different ways. See what makes your crew feel right, see what inspires them."
He took a small sip of his drink before continuing, scratching his head absently.
"Sometimes it's not about what you think is right, but what feels right." A nod. "And I guess you've thought as a scientist fer so long, it's just... ah, hard to come out of that."
His voice was fresh with a discovery so profound in his mind.
"Then, when you're a good leader, you'll find yer inspiration! 'Cuz you're backed by yer followers. And when that happens, you can do anything."
Lard Nar swallowed, listening to the goodness of his words.
He was always the pessimist--that's how he attributed his sentiment to focusing on the bad--and always scoffed at the "happy people"--but Spleenk was different, and this time...
The scientist choked on the words that he was about to relay, ashamed of the tremble that crept to his voice.
Begotten by a shot of emotional clarity he had never felt before, Lard Nar forced back a lump as he realized his deepest fear.
"...Spleenk."
His voice was masked by a shell of forced masculinity; of emotional alienation. He felt heated and indignant at his own words, as that shell broke and he found his defenses to become slippery--streaming out with what he spoke, like mildewy water.
"Spleenk. What... if I screw up?"
Those words had felt so oppressive in his mind, so dark and heretical; so unyielding and abrasive, a path to condemnation if they were ever fulfilled.
They hung in the air, the faded shadow of his quavering voice displayed grotesquely. Mocking him.
Spleenk looked down at the troubled Vortian with a bona fide smile, happily embracing his statement. And with a single sentence, he blasted it out of the water with a simplicity that made the scientist's fears seem incredulous.
"Aw, sir. Everyone makes mistakes."
---
The bar remained merry late into the night.
But at the 36th standard hour, his crew assimilated in the entrance. Most were tipsy, but a few stood steadily on their feet.
Lard Nar stood facing them, arms behind his back.
He stood with the dignity of someone who was warm with a tickle of alcohol--but spoke clearly, nonetheless, with an experimental confidence that hadn't been there before. Maybe he could make this work.
"Rebels! I have an announcement to make. While you were off partying, we acquired a new crewmember... to aid the fight against the Irken machine!"
He lifted his antennae, feeling tired and slightly buzzed. Nevertheless, his fist swung up triumphantly, meeting the cheers of his drunken crewmates.
"I would like you all to meet Spleenk, of planet Tena!"
He leapt to the side to divert their attention to the gawky bartender, nearly stumbling to the floor. Spleenk glowed in the sudden reception of praise, clapping and more cheering.
Lard Nar found himself joining in the applause, taking a good look at his crew.
Yes, he thought, reflecting on what Spleenk said. He felt a surge of hope, of sudden ambition.
Yes. I can definitely make this work.