| Technicolor Burp 13 June 2006 Microfic: Illness |
“Hurl.”
“Throw something.”
“Heave.”
“Lift a heavy object.”
“Barf.”
“A small carnivore found on the Outer Forkund colonies.”
“Blow chunks.”
“Each one translates. Together they do not describe a physical act I recall ever performing.”
“Ralph.”
“I believe that is a man’s name on Earth.”
“You really don’t have a word for this.”
“We’ve discussed this before, John.”
“Peacekeeper inoculations. You never get sick.”
“Correct.”
John moaned and curled into a ball. “How much longer?”
Aeryn rubbed his back for several microts. “Moya’s databanks indicate that the virus should run
its course in another twelve arns.”
“I want to die.”
* ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *
“Throw something.”
“Heave.”
“Lift a heavy object.”
“Barf.”
“A small carnivore found on the Outer Forkund colonies.”
“Blow chunks.”
“Each one translates. Together they do not describe a physical act I recall ever performing.”
“Ralph.”
“I believe that is a man’s name on Earth.”
“You really don’t have a word for this.”
“We’ve discussed this before, John.”
“Peacekeeper inoculations. You never get sick.”
“Correct.”
John moaned and curled into a ball. “How much longer?”
Aeryn rubbed his back for several microts. “Moya’s databanks indicate that the virus should run
its course in another twelve arns.”
“I want to die.”
* ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *
