The Babylon 5 Drabble project

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

He studies the man, quietly. It is the first time they have been left alone since… Marcus risked his life to protect the best of them. But he cannot find the words to give proper thanks for his bravery, so he remains silent.

“Perhaps you would benefit from reading Lady Windermere’s Fan.”

Gratitude does not fully outweigh suspicion. “Is it another lyric that will preoccupy my thoughts when they should be focused?”

“It’s a play, not a poem.”

The first steps are automated. Retreat. Remember. Reflect.

He has known, of course, that he could kill if he had to. Known, too, that he was capable of ruthlessness when required. To risk the lives of others beside his own. If the reason was good enough. But he had thought, no believed, that he would never lose his footing. That he would remember right and wrong and distinguish between the two.

But there is nothing to justify what happened. Well there is a reason. And part of him wishes it were good.

Still, it is time to leave.

His smile is confused, his chest comfortingly warm beneath her hand. He continues to speak, endearing himself further to her with every word. Every bit of his proposal to reform temple training. She approves more, perhaps, than he knows. They have to change to prepare for what is to come.

But she must contain her delight in his words, obey the gentle guidance to stop displaying her affection too openly in front of the humans who could not be expected to understand.

Another man dies and there is nothing he can do. A good man? Bad man? Who could say, they first met mere minutes ago. Not nearly long enough to judge, if it were up to him to pass judgment. He hardly meets the ones he can save, there is too little time. And all he can do is patch them up and send them back so they get another chance to die.

He is unsure what to expect as he follows Mollari. The cell could be empty, it would be best if the cell were empty. But why would the Centauri take fresh Spoo to an empty dungeon?

Mollari takes forever, talking to the guard, convincing the man to let them enter the cell. But the room is dark safe for Mollari’s light and there is no reply safe for a soft jingling of chains as someone rises in the back of the room.

For the B5 Drabble Project.

Livia and Vicenti are two Centauri OCs I made recently who try to aid the Narn resistance. Vicenti’s husband is in military politics, so they got brought along to one of the Centauri outposts on Narn. 

“There must be something we can do.” Livia gazed up from the balcony. Stars bled through Narn’s night-sky despite the smoke.

“I know, my love.” Vicenti wrapped her arms around her. She lowered her lips to Livia’s ear. “But I fear if we do not lay low, we will be caught.”

“Can you feel them as I do? Their screams? Their pain?” Tears streaked down Livia’s pale cheeks. “I cannot bear it much longer.”

Now, every part of her ached; hands blistered and burnt after tearing through searing metal, collarbone and ribs broken. But alive.

He woke as she approached, smiling weakly.

‘We’re being sent home"

“Probably for the best. Not sure we’re much use to anyone.”

She looked away, eyes bright.

“I…I thought…you'd…”

"Still here”

She nods.

For the B5 Drabble Project.

Some quick notes: the “Grins” are the academy’s masked authority figures and Lyta’s grandmother is a really high ranking figure in the Corps.

Children don’t normally skip when leaving the Grins, but children don’t normally have a grandmother like Natasha Alexander. This time, her gift is a stuffed bunny. Lyta holds it close, but not so close the other kids can’t see, and walks back to her bunk. 

For the B5 Drabble Project.

There are twenty agonizing minutes until her shift ends. Twenty minutes could mean another ambassadorial dispute, another cranky pilot, or another disaster trapping her for another six hours.

On any other day, she’d groan and begrudgingly accept it, but today she’s counting down the seconds. She stares down the jumpgate, daring it to open, daring it to face her wrath. Corwin peeks up from his console and makes the wise choice to not engage.

“First you appreciate the proportions. Then you smell it, take in this wonderful, unique, incomparable smell. Now you need to be very careful when you begin to use your fingers. You do not want to hurt the inner skin or sweet juices will cover your hands and you might need to suck them clean.”

Ah yes, a mildly scandalized gasp. He smiles brightly, separating the slices and offering a sample. “Taste of it.”

“I was unaware that your people observe rituals regarding your food.”

“Oranges are special. You need to treat them with respect.”

They rest for a long time, after all words are said and all tears are cried. There is nothing left to say, to do. And she should untangle herself. Should rise, wipe off her tears. And put on a mask, pretend that it will be okay. She has practiced that skill, many times. What is one more time.

“I need to go.”

“If you leave first, we cannot leave you.”

No one else you love can. She resents him, sometimes. The way he knows her, but his fingers are gentle, still stroking her hair.

“I will miss you.”

A lot.

It will happen. It must happen. It already has happened. And it will happen again. They have to steal Babylon 4. He has to take it to the past. Give up everything about his old life to begin a new life on a world where his destiny is already written.

He suggests a cup of tea. Not even booze or anything. Just tea. And diaries. And a pit in her stomach when she knows what they need to discuss. She has had this talk before. More than once. And while it is hardly his fault that the Minbari chose him…

“I will need you to guard the station and wrangle the diplomats,” he smiles weakly. “I know you can do that, but I hoped to stick around until my replacement arrives.”

“We received an invitation to a party, Ambassador.” Lennier’s eyes are cast to the floor. “The humans wish to celebrate the anniversary of our surrender.”

“You disapprove.”

“I will attend if you wish for me to escort you.”

“That you will,” she rests gentle fingers beneath his chin, “Lennier, they wish to celebrate their people’s survival, not our people’s shame.”

“Do you want me to select gifts appropriate to the occasion?”

“Yes, and it is time to ask the seamstresses to meet us. We should show how much we appreciate their gesture of reconciliation.”

For the B5 Drabble Project.

I’m really happy this was a prompt because I think about Lyta’s “One mistake. One mistake out of so many, so many others…” line in Thirdspace every single day of my life. 

The Vorlons made mistakes. They weren’t perfect, benevolent, all-knowing. They were human, messy and flawed, but so giant they appeared as gods. It’d made her feel special, worthy, until unlocked programming sliced open a million sacks of grainy secrets still spilling into her mind.

Mistake: tampering with the lesser races.

Mistake: pretending a lesser race was ever more than a lab-rat, specimen, vessel. 

Mistake: abandoning this vessel in the wreckage of their pride.