.au ficlet: The first circle (John/Rodney) PG
The first circle (John/Rodney) PG | ~950
Just a bit of silliness for the lovely siriaeve, who had to suffer through a Rite of Passage today ♥♥♥ She wondered what Rodney's first day of doctoral school would be like, and well....
The first circle
Rodney remembers, from the distant mists of the literature class his otherwise sensible college made him take, some author saying something about how "hell is other people."
For a writer who'd never once been published in a peer-reviewed journal (unlike Rodney; International Journal of Theoretical Astrophysics, second author, forthcoming), Rodney has to admit the guy has a point. Hell is other people; specifically, it's other people who don't seem to understand that people who research things for a living do not need a three-hour introduction to the library.
The other people who constitute Hell are the graduate studies director, who decided that all orientation would be conducted on the same day. Rodney's been oriented to the department, his fellow and woefully inferior colleagues, to the Science and Engineering Research building, to the basement labs. Like people who'd gotten through four years of labwork without blowing off their eyebrows unintentionally didn't know how to work a fume hood.
"It's required," the chief lab supervisor had said, and Rodney'd realized he'd actually voiced that thought. He'd been careful to keep his observation on Be sure to lock the door to the radiation lab and Don't eat or drink while in the chem lab to himself.
Hell had demons, too. The chief, Rodney suspects, is the GSD, who insisted on Rodney's rigorous adherence to prerequisites, like Rodney wasn't revolutionizing the study of quantum chromodynamics even as he sat there, listening to him natter on about the research colloquium and classes on grant writing. Then comes the lab supervisor and his minions, then the sciences librarian, and the other damned souls writhing with Rodney in torment.
There's also one guy from the Mathematics department, which had been lumped in with the Physics department for the library tour. A slouchy, slinky demon, who slinks to the outside of their group and leans against a pillar and slept while the librarian explains about the databases.
Electronic databases are the wave of the future; soon most of our journal holdings will be online... You can sign on to the library website from any computer, on campus or off.
Boredom and irritation won't let Rodney sleep. His mind fastens onto the librarian's hushed and endless hum of a voice, the stream of completely redunant information, and each drop of knowledge--which Rodney already knows--adds another point to his blood pressure.
"Don't you think a bunch of graduate students in physics, who work with computers, would know how to run a boolean search?" he asks his folded arms.
The math demon snickers and stretches. It does interesting things to his t-shirt and jeans.
"Seriously! Don't you think people who have been published--in peer-reviewed journals no less--might actually have the faintest idea of how to conduct research?" Distantly, he's aware his voice is rising, pushed up by the pressure of annoyance.
"Shhhhh," the demon says, and holds a finger to his lips.
"Don't 'shhhhhh' me," Rodney grumbles. The demon grins and slides his shoulders along the pillar, worming his way closer to Rodney. "I can hear two people blathering on their cell phones from here." He breathes something uncomplimentary about them, and the math guy laughs. It's unexpectedly deep, and somewhat alarming. The librarian pauses in his monologue.
"Can I help you gentlemen? Did you have a question?"
"No sir," math guy says with a tone that should, by rights, have the librarian storming through the knot of students to smack the sass right out of him.
"How about you?" The librarian turns narrowed eyes on Rodney.
"No," Rodney says, then mumbles something about how the only way he could be helped is for someone to put an icepick through his eye.
The math guy slides a bit further down the pillar, lazy smile firmly in place but directed at nothing in particular. Rodney has the sense it's for everybody--the librarian, his lecture, the other students, Rodney. Rodney tries to be infuriated at that, because Rodney McKay is not put in the corner, not with the intellectually substandard, but maybe the boredom is interfering with the fury, because it spikes once and dies, and Rodney's body buzzes with thwarted energy before that too fades.
The librarian drones on.
Those of you in statistical mechanics will be interested in these journals which, being students who wrote your theses on statistical mechanics, you will probably never ever have heard of... And this over here is a microfilm machine, which I am sure will be relevant if the Internet somehow vaporizes overnight...
"I'm John Sheppard," math demon person guy says. He stretches again, and Rodney gets the full benefit of pale pink-striped boxers.
It's the one pertinent, interesting piece of information Rodney's absorbed all day.
The library catalogue is set up according to the Library of Congress system, the librarian intones, voice nasal with ritual and routine. You can search the online catalogue by author name, title, subject keyword, catalogue number, and you can also conduct advanced searches by clicking on the 'Advanced Search' button.
"I'm Rodney McKay," he says, to return the favor.
"Hey, Rodney." Sheppard offers him a lazy smile and shifts, inclines his head to say there's space on his pillar for Rodney to take, if he wants it.
Summoning his courage and the few shreds of graceful social skills he has, Rodney leans, sets a foot against the cool marble and rests his bag on the floor. Sheppard leans back in, close enough that they can swap comments about how no one actually wears a pocket protector anymore, and the librarian enthusing over the hardcopy encyclopedias in the reference section (Everything's online now, but you may be interested in the earlier editions we have of the major references for the physical sciences), for John to, on a breath, ask if Rodney wants to go for coffee later.
Hell, Rodney reflects, isn't so bad after all.
-end-
Just a bit of silliness for the lovely siriaeve, who had to suffer through a Rite of Passage today ♥♥♥ She wondered what Rodney's first day of doctoral school would be like, and well....
The first circle
Rodney remembers, from the distant mists of the literature class his otherwise sensible college made him take, some author saying something about how "hell is other people."
For a writer who'd never once been published in a peer-reviewed journal (unlike Rodney; International Journal of Theoretical Astrophysics, second author, forthcoming), Rodney has to admit the guy has a point. Hell is other people; specifically, it's other people who don't seem to understand that people who research things for a living do not need a three-hour introduction to the library.
The other people who constitute Hell are the graduate studies director, who decided that all orientation would be conducted on the same day. Rodney's been oriented to the department, his fellow and woefully inferior colleagues, to the Science and Engineering Research building, to the basement labs. Like people who'd gotten through four years of labwork without blowing off their eyebrows unintentionally didn't know how to work a fume hood.
"It's required," the chief lab supervisor had said, and Rodney'd realized he'd actually voiced that thought. He'd been careful to keep his observation on Be sure to lock the door to the radiation lab and Don't eat or drink while in the chem lab to himself.
Hell had demons, too. The chief, Rodney suspects, is the GSD, who insisted on Rodney's rigorous adherence to prerequisites, like Rodney wasn't revolutionizing the study of quantum chromodynamics even as he sat there, listening to him natter on about the research colloquium and classes on grant writing. Then comes the lab supervisor and his minions, then the sciences librarian, and the other damned souls writhing with Rodney in torment.
There's also one guy from the Mathematics department, which had been lumped in with the Physics department for the library tour. A slouchy, slinky demon, who slinks to the outside of their group and leans against a pillar and slept while the librarian explains about the databases.
Electronic databases are the wave of the future; soon most of our journal holdings will be online... You can sign on to the library website from any computer, on campus or off.
Boredom and irritation won't let Rodney sleep. His mind fastens onto the librarian's hushed and endless hum of a voice, the stream of completely redunant information, and each drop of knowledge--which Rodney already knows--adds another point to his blood pressure.
"Don't you think a bunch of graduate students in physics, who work with computers, would know how to run a boolean search?" he asks his folded arms.
The math demon snickers and stretches. It does interesting things to his t-shirt and jeans.
"Seriously! Don't you think people who have been published--in peer-reviewed journals no less--might actually have the faintest idea of how to conduct research?" Distantly, he's aware his voice is rising, pushed up by the pressure of annoyance.
"Shhhhh," the demon says, and holds a finger to his lips.
"Don't 'shhhhhh' me," Rodney grumbles. The demon grins and slides his shoulders along the pillar, worming his way closer to Rodney. "I can hear two people blathering on their cell phones from here." He breathes something uncomplimentary about them, and the math guy laughs. It's unexpectedly deep, and somewhat alarming. The librarian pauses in his monologue.
"Can I help you gentlemen? Did you have a question?"
"No sir," math guy says with a tone that should, by rights, have the librarian storming through the knot of students to smack the sass right out of him.
"How about you?" The librarian turns narrowed eyes on Rodney.
"No," Rodney says, then mumbles something about how the only way he could be helped is for someone to put an icepick through his eye.
The math guy slides a bit further down the pillar, lazy smile firmly in place but directed at nothing in particular. Rodney has the sense it's for everybody--the librarian, his lecture, the other students, Rodney. Rodney tries to be infuriated at that, because Rodney McKay is not put in the corner, not with the intellectually substandard, but maybe the boredom is interfering with the fury, because it spikes once and dies, and Rodney's body buzzes with thwarted energy before that too fades.
The librarian drones on.
Those of you in statistical mechanics will be interested in these journals which, being students who wrote your theses on statistical mechanics, you will probably never ever have heard of... And this over here is a microfilm machine, which I am sure will be relevant if the Internet somehow vaporizes overnight...
"I'm John Sheppard," math demon person guy says. He stretches again, and Rodney gets the full benefit of pale pink-striped boxers.
It's the one pertinent, interesting piece of information Rodney's absorbed all day.
The library catalogue is set up according to the Library of Congress system, the librarian intones, voice nasal with ritual and routine. You can search the online catalogue by author name, title, subject keyword, catalogue number, and you can also conduct advanced searches by clicking on the 'Advanced Search' button.
"I'm Rodney McKay," he says, to return the favor.
"Hey, Rodney." Sheppard offers him a lazy smile and shifts, inclines his head to say there's space on his pillar for Rodney to take, if he wants it.
Summoning his courage and the few shreds of graceful social skills he has, Rodney leans, sets a foot against the cool marble and rests his bag on the floor. Sheppard leans back in, close enough that they can swap comments about how no one actually wears a pocket protector anymore, and the librarian enthusing over the hardcopy encyclopedias in the reference section (Everything's online now, but you may be interested in the earlier editions we have of the major references for the physical sciences), for John to, on a breath, ask if Rodney wants to go for coffee later.
Hell, Rodney reflects, isn't so bad after all.
-end-