For ILH, who was having a bad week :) Hope you feel better :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Contagion*
by Zion's Starfish
* the communication of any influence to the mind or heart
Seamus Harper blotted the beer off his apron and the side of his face with a grimy rag. He hated waiting on Feiser and his buddies and damn it, Moorley knew it. But every time Feiser or one of his men pushed open the door to The Gridiron, Moorley would push him out of the kitchen to serve them.
He hated this job with every fibre in his body. But he had plans for the money. He was going to get off Ionimir one day. He wanted to see the universe. Surf in the Pan-Galactic Games. Meet hot chicks.
Sure it seemed distant, especially with the measly three thrones an hour Moorley was paying him. But he was fourteen and he'd survived every Magog and Niet the world had thrown at him. He'd survive.
"What are you doing in here?"
Harper looked up to find Moorley towering over him, a lit cigarette hanging out of his ulcerated lips. He grabbed Harper by the front of his shirt and shoved him towards the door.
"I'm not paying you to stand around. Get out there!"
Harper heard the door chime. As he grabbed his notepad, he prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of and invented that it wasn't another of Feiser's loser friends.
He froze.
It wasn't.
She was maybe twenty. Red hair. Tall.
Harper hurried over to her table before any other waiter could snap her up. He took a deep breath and tried to act six years older than he really was.
"Welcome to the Gridiron. May I take your order?"
His voice creaked but she flashed him a quick smile and Harper felt his knees liquify.
"Um, listen, what can I get for eight thrones?"
Harper frowned. She was dressed fairly nicely: black boots and pants, clingy blue top, and an assortment of rings on her fingers. And she wanted to know what she could get for eight thrones?
"Uh..."
Harper smelled Moorley behind him before he heard his voice. He stank like the dumpster in the back alley, like he'd never heard of soap or personal hygiene.
"What do we have here?" Moorley sneered.
Harper's heart jumped into overdrive but as he turned he realized Moorley wasn't talking to him. He was talking to the girl.
"Get out!" he yelled. "What do you take me for?"
The girl jumped up and backed up a few steps.
"Get out!"
She turned and fled.
Moorley snorted. "Lousy freeloader."
He stomped into the back room in a cloud of smoke. Harper was stunned. The Gridiron wasn't exactly a fine-dining establishment. There were rats in the bathroom bigger than he was. He felt inexplicably bad for her, and it wasn't just because she was cute.
He took off his apron and dug around in his pockets. He dumped the twelve thrones on the counter and snagged a cup of coffee and a greasy meat sandwich.
"I'm going for my break!" he announced and ran out the door before Moorley could stop him.
He found her sitting on the back steps near that stinking dumpster. She had her chin in her hands.
"Hey," he said nervously. Suddenly he didn't know what the hell he was doing out here. He could lose his job and... well... she could be a psycho killer lady.
She looked up at him and smiled gently. "Hi again. Sorry about... that."
"That's okay. Moorley's a jackass." He looked around abruptly, hoping Moorley hadn't heard him.
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
"I'm... err... on a break."
Before he could stop himself or listen to his voice of self-preservation, he held out the food. "Here. I'm not hungry. You'd better be, because that's the only way you'll be able to gag this stuff down."
She put down the sandwich and smelled the coffee. "Thanks."
Harper strangled the urge to ask her what she was doing out here. She was definitely misplaced but he didn't feel right asking.
Seamus Harper, Gentleman.
"I'd better get back to work," he said.
"Wait!" She held out her eight thrones. Harper noticed she had green eyes. "Please. I know it's not enough but..."
"I couldn't."
She pulled the rings off her fingers. "They're real Irconian."
Harper could hear Moorley bellowing inside. Moorley was going to kill him.
"Bye," he said, and smiled.
He could hear Moorley bellowing as he ran back inside. Feiser was ordering another beer. Frell...
"Harper! Get your ass back in here."
"Harper?"
"Harper, wake up!"
Harper sat up with a shout. He was about to smack his head on the upper bunk but Beka grabbed his shoulders.
"Wha? Where? What's going on?"
Beka peered at him. "You were having a nightmare."
He rubbed his head. "I was?"
She picked up his pillow from the floor and put it back on the bed. "Yeah. Goodnight, Harper."
Harper lay back down.
"Hey, Beka?"
She paused in the doorway.
"Have you ever visited Ionimir?"
"Once, when I was nineteen. I ran away from the Maru, and I hopped on this public shuttle into the Ionimir system. Can you believe I only had 8 thrones to my name? But this kid who worked at this shitty diner bought me a cup of coffee and a disgusting mystery meat sandwich. It was the best meal I ever had. Even better than Cavanaughs." She smiled at the memory. "He didn't tell me his name and I don't remember his face but he kind of restored my faith in humankind, you know? Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
"Well, goodnight, Harper."
Harper closed his eyes and smiled.
"'Night."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Contagion*
by Zion's Starfish
* the communication of any influence to the mind or heart
Seamus Harper blotted the beer off his apron and the side of his face with a grimy rag. He hated waiting on Feiser and his buddies and damn it, Moorley knew it. But every time Feiser or one of his men pushed open the door to The Gridiron, Moorley would push him out of the kitchen to serve them.
He hated this job with every fibre in his body. But he had plans for the money. He was going to get off Ionimir one day. He wanted to see the universe. Surf in the Pan-Galactic Games. Meet hot chicks.
Sure it seemed distant, especially with the measly three thrones an hour Moorley was paying him. But he was fourteen and he'd survived every Magog and Niet the world had thrown at him. He'd survive.
"What are you doing in here?"
Harper looked up to find Moorley towering over him, a lit cigarette hanging out of his ulcerated lips. He grabbed Harper by the front of his shirt and shoved him towards the door.
"I'm not paying you to stand around. Get out there!"
Harper heard the door chime. As he grabbed his notepad, he prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of and invented that it wasn't another of Feiser's loser friends.
He froze.
It wasn't.
She was maybe twenty. Red hair. Tall.
Harper hurried over to her table before any other waiter could snap her up. He took a deep breath and tried to act six years older than he really was.
"Welcome to the Gridiron. May I take your order?"
His voice creaked but she flashed him a quick smile and Harper felt his knees liquify.
"Um, listen, what can I get for eight thrones?"
Harper frowned. She was dressed fairly nicely: black boots and pants, clingy blue top, and an assortment of rings on her fingers. And she wanted to know what she could get for eight thrones?
"Uh..."
Harper smelled Moorley behind him before he heard his voice. He stank like the dumpster in the back alley, like he'd never heard of soap or personal hygiene.
"What do we have here?" Moorley sneered.
Harper's heart jumped into overdrive but as he turned he realized Moorley wasn't talking to him. He was talking to the girl.
"Get out!" he yelled. "What do you take me for?"
The girl jumped up and backed up a few steps.
"Get out!"
She turned and fled.
Moorley snorted. "Lousy freeloader."
He stomped into the back room in a cloud of smoke. Harper was stunned. The Gridiron wasn't exactly a fine-dining establishment. There were rats in the bathroom bigger than he was. He felt inexplicably bad for her, and it wasn't just because she was cute.
He took off his apron and dug around in his pockets. He dumped the twelve thrones on the counter and snagged a cup of coffee and a greasy meat sandwich.
"I'm going for my break!" he announced and ran out the door before Moorley could stop him.
He found her sitting on the back steps near that stinking dumpster. She had her chin in her hands.
"Hey," he said nervously. Suddenly he didn't know what the hell he was doing out here. He could lose his job and... well... she could be a psycho killer lady.
She looked up at him and smiled gently. "Hi again. Sorry about... that."
"That's okay. Moorley's a jackass." He looked around abruptly, hoping Moorley hadn't heard him.
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
"I'm... err... on a break."
Before he could stop himself or listen to his voice of self-preservation, he held out the food. "Here. I'm not hungry. You'd better be, because that's the only way you'll be able to gag this stuff down."
She put down the sandwich and smelled the coffee. "Thanks."
Harper strangled the urge to ask her what she was doing out here. She was definitely misplaced but he didn't feel right asking.
Seamus Harper, Gentleman.
"I'd better get back to work," he said.
"Wait!" She held out her eight thrones. Harper noticed she had green eyes. "Please. I know it's not enough but..."
"I couldn't."
She pulled the rings off her fingers. "They're real Irconian."
Harper could hear Moorley bellowing inside. Moorley was going to kill him.
"Bye," he said, and smiled.
He could hear Moorley bellowing as he ran back inside. Feiser was ordering another beer. Frell...
"Harper! Get your ass back in here."
"Harper?"
"Harper, wake up!"
Harper sat up with a shout. He was about to smack his head on the upper bunk but Beka grabbed his shoulders.
"Wha? Where? What's going on?"
Beka peered at him. "You were having a nightmare."
He rubbed his head. "I was?"
She picked up his pillow from the floor and put it back on the bed. "Yeah. Goodnight, Harper."
Harper lay back down.
"Hey, Beka?"
She paused in the doorway.
"Have you ever visited Ionimir?"
"Once, when I was nineteen. I ran away from the Maru, and I hopped on this public shuttle into the Ionimir system. Can you believe I only had 8 thrones to my name? But this kid who worked at this shitty diner bought me a cup of coffee and a disgusting mystery meat sandwich. It was the best meal I ever had. Even better than Cavanaughs." She smiled at the memory. "He didn't tell me his name and I don't remember his face but he kind of restored my faith in humankind, you know? Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
"Well, goodnight, Harper."
Harper closed his eyes and smiled.
"'Night."