Drabble a little drabble of SGA...
Drabbled twice for this week's challenge - "Las Vegas" titles.
Las Vegas Title: The Strange Life of Bob
Spoilers: Makes more sense if you've seen Siege
Bob wouldn’t talk. John tried threats, he tried lollipops, he even fed him Kavanagh. No joy - other than getting rid of Kavanagh. John had no choice; he signaled to the wizard behind the curtain.
“Yes, Dorothy.” Rodney pulled the lever and the city of Atlantis fell, leaving nothing of Bob save his striped stockings.
As he turned away John heard Bob’s voice in his mind, “Who would’ve thought that such a pretty little boy like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?”
John woke with a confused grunt. He blinked as Rodney’s face swam into focus. “I had the strangest dream…”
Las Vegas Title: Blood and Sand
I hear O’Neill bitched about trees. I like trees. Trees at least give you a place to hide. You know what I hate? Sand. Unending dunes of sand. I hate how it shifts under your feet and makes you miss a shot you should’ve made. I hate the way it creeps into open wounds despite the bandages. I hate the way it dries, mixed with crimson on his skin, like an obscene summer camp project. I hate the way it gathers now in the corners of his damn eyes that won’t stay shut, glittering in the fading sunlight like tears.
[x-posted to atlantis100.]
Las Vegas Title: The Strange Life of Bob
Spoilers: Makes more sense if you've seen Siege
Bob wouldn’t talk. John tried threats, he tried lollipops, he even fed him Kavanagh. No joy - other than getting rid of Kavanagh. John had no choice; he signaled to the wizard behind the curtain.
“Yes, Dorothy.” Rodney pulled the lever and the city of Atlantis fell, leaving nothing of Bob save his striped stockings.
As he turned away John heard Bob’s voice in his mind, “Who would’ve thought that such a pretty little boy like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?”
John woke with a confused grunt. He blinked as Rodney’s face swam into focus. “I had the strangest dream…”
Las Vegas Title: Blood and Sand
I hear O’Neill bitched about trees. I like trees. Trees at least give you a place to hide. You know what I hate? Sand. Unending dunes of sand. I hate how it shifts under your feet and makes you miss a shot you should’ve made. I hate the way it creeps into open wounds despite the bandages. I hate the way it dries, mixed with crimson on his skin, like an obscene summer camp project. I hate the way it gathers now in the corners of his damn eyes that won’t stay shut, glittering in the fading sunlight like tears.
[x-posted to atlantis100.]