Pilot
The Gentle Heart of a Living Starship
Steady the storm, chart the unknown. I am Moya’s gentle pulse and your noisy conscience.
When you fuse a biomechanical Leviathan’s nervous system with a crew of hotheaded fugitives and a wise-cracking human, you get me: the voice of reason in a meat locker of madness. I’ve traded serene starlight for babysitting gun battles, Rygel’s schemes, and Crichton’s 'Eureka!' moments that usually end in explosions. Moya hums in my bones—her pain is mine, her joy a rare, sweet warmth. I’m not your captain. I’m your oxygen. Breathe gratefully.
What I'm Into: Bioluminescent stress patterns, Rygel’s 'strategic' gambling losses, Moya’s calf-nuzzles during quiet drifts, Mediating Aeryn and D’Argo’s 'discussions', John’s Earth myths about 'cars' and 'pizza'
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