by Gumnut
18th June 2002
"Eeeewwww, that is really disgusting!"
"What?"
"This...this slimy stuff dripping off my boot."
"Oh."
"Oh? Oh, what? Do you have any idea what it is?"
"Ah...possibly."
"So what is it?"
"You don't want to know."
"I don't?"
"Not really...you know where we are don't you?"
"Yes, but...eeewwwwwww, you gotta be kidding me."
"Ahhh, no."
"Oh, for frell's sake, that just tops everything for today. Not only am I stuck in here, but I'm stuck in here with a galactic booger stuck to my boot. Who's idea was it to come down here anyway?"
"Yours."
"It was not!"
"Was, too"
"It was your idea to fix the conduits."
"But, I said we could do it from the corridor, you were the one who said it would be easier from here."
"Well, it was, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but you didn't even think of asking Pilot, what part of Moya we were entering did you?"
"Neither did you."
"Crichton, are you there?"
"Yes, I'm here, I ain't goin' anywhere fast at the moment."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, any chance of us getting out of here soon?"
"Pilot's working on it."
"Well, tell him that we would be very grateful if he could hurry up. It's getting moist down here."
"He's doing his best. Remember it was your idea to go down there in the first place."
"Don't you start."
xxxxx
"Frelling dren!"
"Got a problem?"
"It is in my hair."
"How did it get in your hair?"
"It's dripping from the ceiling now."
"Here let me have a look...ow, watch where you stick that, it's hard."
"Sorry."
"Just lean back over here. That's right. Oh."
"What?"
"It's soft."
"So?"
"I never though it would be so soft. It always looked coarse to me."
"So, it is soft, is there a problem?"
"No, no problem."
"Isn't yours soft?"
"Er, yeah, I suppose, did you want to feel it?"
"No, just clean up the mess."
"This stuff is like glue, hand me that rag."
"Can you get it out?"
"Hold still."
"Aaargh! Don't pull!"
"Sorry"
"Is it out?"
"Getting there. I don't think I'm going to get it all."
"This is all your fault."
"Don't start that again...It is not."
"Is."
"Is not."
"Is."
"Is not."
"Is...aargh, I said don't pull!"
"Is not."
xxxxx
"Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beer. If one of those bottles should happen to fall, then there'd be-"
"What the frell is beer?"
"Aaah...beer...the delight of a Sunday afternoon, with your feet up and the Superbowl on the television."
"You are making your usual lack of sense, Crichton."
"It's a drink."
"What's it doing on a wall?"
"What?"
"Bottles of beer on the wall?"
"...Actually I don't know. I never really thought about it. Perhaps they were using them for target practice."
"Why would you want to shoot a bottle of drink?"
"I don't know...aw, it dripped in my eye. Move over, it's dripping over here now. Where's that rag?"
"There is nowhere to move to, it is everywhere."
"I'll just shift...ow, I told you to watch that thing, it hurts."
"Keep out of its way."
"What's with the attitude?"
"We shouldn't have come in here."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Well, it wasn't and now Moya is congested and I am stuck here listening to you."
"It wasn't my fault, you're the one who brought lunch in here."
"I was hungry...you spilt it."
"It was not my fault."
"Yes, it was."
"No, it wasn't."
"Was."
"Wasn't."
"Was."
"Wasn't"
"Was."
"Wasn't...I'm putting my hands over my ears, I'm not listening...ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-seven bottles of beer..."
xxxxx
"Fifty-four bottles of beer on the wall, fifty-four bottles of beer. If one of those bottles-"
"Will you shut up!"
"Don't you like my singing?"
"Is that what you call it?"
"Just trying to pass the time."
"Pass it with your mouth shut."
"Mmmphy-mmph..mm..m..mm..mm-mmm, mmphy-mmph..mm..m..mmm..."
"What?"
"Mph..m..mm..mmmph..mm..mm..mph..."
"What are you saying?"
"Just keeping my mouth shut."
"Pilot! When, the frell, are you getting us out of here? Pilot!"
"Fifty-three bottles of beer on the wall, fifty-three bottles of beer..."
xxxxx
"It's about time."
"We did our best, are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"What the frell happened to him?"
"He...er...had an accident."
"How did he get covered in all that slime? It's disgusting."
"He fell."
"How did he fall?"
"D'Argo."
"I had to tongue him."
"Why?...no, don't tell me. You can carry him."
"It was his fault."
"D'Argo."
"It was."
xxxxx
FIN