Progress Report: Tea and Blankets
I am on the home stretch with Part 3 of X Marks the Spot, although I really had hoped to be finished by now! Progress was considerably slowed by my getting sick about ten days ago; instead of my spending lots of time writing, I spent lots of time sleeping.
I'm doing a lot better now, and last weekend was fic_rush weekend, which was lovely. In addition to getting more work done on Part Three, the final hour featured another outburst of crackfic.
The running jokes of the weekend usually feature such items as penguins and alien fish; this time, Trojans and Spartans and the French Foreign Legion, and even Spartan ninja penguins. This led to the following item from idlewild_: The Franco-Greco Rescue Affair.
In addition, that same noble and magnificent individual commented that, while I was sick, my characters presumably just curled up with tea and blankies and didn't do anything (even though I had left them in a rather precarious situation). Now, the word 'blankie' makes me cringe. So, I present for your delectation:
Blanket Solutions
“ONeill. Are you certain you do not wish any tea?”
Jack didn’t even bother looking up. “I hate tea. I’m sick of tea. I’m not drinkin’ any more of that crap even if Daniel discovers that we’re offending some damned tribe’s sacred tea-drinking rituals.”
“Would you care for a blankie? We still have a generous supply.”
“Would you stop callin’ them that?!? God, I hate that word! Blan-ket. They’re blan-kets. And no, I don’t want one. I’ve had enough naps to last me for years. When the hell is something gonna happen?”
Daniel glanced up from his book just long enough to pour himself a fresh cup. “Jack, if you have to shout, could you do it somewhere else? Personally, I’ve got half a dozen books left that I haven’t read, the light’s good, I’m dry and clothed, and it’s been at least three days since anybody damaged me, so if you don’t mind I’m not all that interested in messing up the status quo right now.”
He made a few notes on a scratch pad and turned the page. Jack rolled over onto his back and draped one arm across his face. The movement dislodged three of the penguins, who emitted annoyed skreeks and whistles before they settled back down. Another penguin, one of the Emperors, waddled over, pecked at Jack’s sleeve, and trilled something in French.
“Daniel . . . ? What’s the little pest want this time?”
“He wants you to play Risk with them again.”
“No.”
“He says you’re a much better player than the Humboldt penguins, and the Galapagos penguins keeping eating the pieces, so he won’t play with them at all any more.”
“No.”
“Is it because he beat you last time, ONeill?”
“He cheated last time.” Jack hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the penguins, and walked to the open door of the hut where they’d been stuck for the last several days. Outside, the scenery was still nondescript, nothing more than a swirling grey fog of random letters that refused to coalesce into adjectives or even nouns. Inside was little better: the location was so sketchily rendered that any item, other than the tea and blankets, tended to lose clarity and definition if left unattended for too long. Even the penguins changed appearance occasionally, although never while you were watching. It had been much better yesterday, when they’d all turned into Spartans and he’d had several great hours rehashing Thermopylae with them. The Emperor penguins were surprisingly good at military tactics.
Jack glanced with annoyance at the only part of the hut that had remained clearly defined for the last few days: the curtain wall of blankets that MacGyver and Sam Carter had rigged up the first evening, using everyone’s shoelaces and Mac’s entire pocket supply of paper clips. Those two hadn’t poked their noses out for more than a few minutes since then, although he had no idea whether they were solving mathematical theorems or screwing each other. Or both. Probably both.
“ONeill.”
“What?!” Jack didn’t even try not to sound petulant.
“The penguins have transformed again.”
Jack turned around and studied them. “French Legionaries.”
“Is that another tribe of warriors?” Teal’c looked intrigued.
“Yeah. Not too bad, either. See if they want any tea, willya?”
~fin~
I'm doing a lot better now, and last weekend was fic_rush weekend, which was lovely. In addition to getting more work done on Part Three, the final hour featured another outburst of crackfic.
The running jokes of the weekend usually feature such items as penguins and alien fish; this time, Trojans and Spartans and the French Foreign Legion, and even Spartan ninja penguins. This led to the following item from idlewild_: The Franco-Greco Rescue Affair.
In addition, that same noble and magnificent individual commented that, while I was sick, my characters presumably just curled up with tea and blankies and didn't do anything (even though I had left them in a rather precarious situation). Now, the word 'blankie' makes me cringe. So, I present for your delectation:
Blanket Solutions
“ONeill. Are you certain you do not wish any tea?”
Jack didn’t even bother looking up. “I hate tea. I’m sick of tea. I’m not drinkin’ any more of that crap even if Daniel discovers that we’re offending some damned tribe’s sacred tea-drinking rituals.”
“Would you care for a blankie? We still have a generous supply.”
“Would you stop callin’ them that?!? God, I hate that word! Blan-ket. They’re blan-kets. And no, I don’t want one. I’ve had enough naps to last me for years. When the hell is something gonna happen?”
Daniel glanced up from his book just long enough to pour himself a fresh cup. “Jack, if you have to shout, could you do it somewhere else? Personally, I’ve got half a dozen books left that I haven’t read, the light’s good, I’m dry and clothed, and it’s been at least three days since anybody damaged me, so if you don’t mind I’m not all that interested in messing up the status quo right now.”
He made a few notes on a scratch pad and turned the page. Jack rolled over onto his back and draped one arm across his face. The movement dislodged three of the penguins, who emitted annoyed skreeks and whistles before they settled back down. Another penguin, one of the Emperors, waddled over, pecked at Jack’s sleeve, and trilled something in French.
“Daniel . . . ? What’s the little pest want this time?”
“He wants you to play Risk with them again.”
“No.”
“He says you’re a much better player than the Humboldt penguins, and the Galapagos penguins keeping eating the pieces, so he won’t play with them at all any more.”
“No.”
“Is it because he beat you last time, ONeill?”
“He cheated last time.” Jack hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the penguins, and walked to the open door of the hut where they’d been stuck for the last several days. Outside, the scenery was still nondescript, nothing more than a swirling grey fog of random letters that refused to coalesce into adjectives or even nouns. Inside was little better: the location was so sketchily rendered that any item, other than the tea and blankets, tended to lose clarity and definition if left unattended for too long. Even the penguins changed appearance occasionally, although never while you were watching. It had been much better yesterday, when they’d all turned into Spartans and he’d had several great hours rehashing Thermopylae with them. The Emperor penguins were surprisingly good at military tactics.
Jack glanced with annoyance at the only part of the hut that had remained clearly defined for the last few days: the curtain wall of blankets that MacGyver and Sam Carter had rigged up the first evening, using everyone’s shoelaces and Mac’s entire pocket supply of paper clips. Those two hadn’t poked their noses out for more than a few minutes since then, although he had no idea whether they were solving mathematical theorems or screwing each other. Or both. Probably both.
“ONeill.”
“What?!” Jack didn’t even try not to sound petulant.
“The penguins have transformed again.”
Jack turned around and studied them. “French Legionaries.”
“Is that another tribe of warriors?” Teal’c looked intrigued.
“Yeah. Not too bad, either. See if they want any tea, willya?”
~fin~