[just_muse_me] - 9.7.5
FIVE times you were high and one time the drugs weren't enough. [ jmm:9.7.5]
-1-
John's young, and inexperienced doesn't even begin to describe it. But he marches right up and into the club, barely pausing for approval from the bouncer.
He's always wanted to do this - seen it in movies - it was just what he needed. Perfect for tonight.
Someone approaches him pretty quick and he tries to calm his twittering frame. No need to appear even more naive than he is.
"You want in?" the guy asks, and his pesky little laugh has John wanting to say no. But he just nods, licking suddenly chapped lips.
He nods, handing John a pill under the glittering lights and John dry-swallows it, easy. He's underage and he really doesn't want to get rejected by the bar, even though he doubts he will be.
For a minute, cold panic seizes his gut and he feels like he's fallen down the rabbit hole.. and drank the wrong potion. He feels a million sizes too small for himself; his hands, his face feel normal. But the rest of him? Tiny and useless.
Taking a deep breath, he forces himself back on the dance floor, his shoulder brushing a stranger's in an average caress... It leaves John shuddering and he wants more.
And then he's dancing, dancing crazy, and he doesn't even notice, but every time he touches someone.. even by accident - especially then - he can't fucking believe how good it feels. And all the flashing lights are like some terribly wonderful overstimulation.
He remembers thinking, a drink would kill me right now.
And even though he's pretty sure sex might kill him too.. it doesn't stop him from following the older couple home like a lost puppy. The blonde even pets him for being well-mannered and patient all the way back to their apartment.
-2-
He's barely just joined up, and already cracking under the pressure. Mitch, he's already been serving a year, and he just laughs - tells John to meet him on the porch.
"Can I bring Nancy?" Mitch waggles his eyebrows and chuckles out an affirmative.
9 o'clock and it feels like high school again. Just off the encampment on someone's porch, smoking a blunt - John feels on top of the world.
Nancy doesn't know what to do with the roach she's past, and John pats her on the back soothingly as she coughs up her beginner's lung.
"It's okay; you're alright," he hums, taking the thing from her before she can do some real damage.
John's floating and free, and the sky's swimming overhead. Hell, he's swimming down below. And it's nice. So nice. Boot camp was a real bitch.
"Got any food, Mitchell?" A packet of Dorito's hits him in the face and it's fucking hilarious - he can barely come up for air. In fact, he manages just long enough to get the bag open and offer it to Nancy. Who he's just realized is sleeping soundly on his shoulder.
Shrugging, he settles back and shifts her into his lap so he can share the chips with Mitch instead. And they sat there, under the stars and in relative silence, drinking in the sky and waiting for their shot at it.
-3-
He remembers saying dropping acid would be a very bad idea. That doesn't explain how he wound up here, alone, in the grass.. surrounded by snakes. And it's not that snakes bother him, not usually, but anything that's trying to eat him is bad news and these snakes most definitely think he's delicious. But then he's laughing and maybe, maybe they just want to tickle him after all.
Her voice sounds loud and tinny to his ears, and everything's shaking from the force of her walk. She's only a small girl, but it scares John all the same.
"Stop that," he orders her, turning over on his grass bed so he can't feel the shaking anymore.
He pictures her frown.
"I want to know how the world ends," and he knew she was ready to show him.
She takes his hand and helps him stand up... and somehow, it's comforting to know he can shake the Earth too. He wonders if she's gone mute - she hasn't said a thing since they got out here. She points to the sky then, still clutching John's hand, and he feels it bleed, watching the red wash down onto the buildings below like watercolor past its expiration.
"Funny. I always thought it would be aliens."
Then she's gone and he's falling - off this precipice and he hears the roaring of red all around him, sees it coat his flesh and try to drown him, but it can't and he's floating...
He looks over and his gun is lying there, but he doesn't reach for it, just stares. And then it grows feet and runs away. Against the protest of creaky muscles from such a fall, he gets up to follow the gun creature. It leads him to a huge oak tree. Detachedly, he watches it climb as far as it can and disappear from sight. He was never meant to be a soldier anyway.
Sighing, he slumps at the base of the tree, feeling its knowledge surround him. It's an old tree - a red leaf falls in his hair and he thinks the sky is falling. When he realizes it isn't, he's infinitely relieved. The branches stretch down, patting his back in motions that are more like scratches, but he doesn't mind. The world's not ending yet and that's what matters.
He looks up in time to see his gun whizzing through the air, cutting it like butter as flakes of matter rain over him. He thinks the gun will hit him, but he doesn't feel it impact.
And then he can't see, but he can taste black.
-4-
A bad trip and he's shuddering, shaking on the edge of the couch. He thinks he might fall off, but he never does. He's starting to suspect he hasn't moved at all since he landed here.
He wants food but he can't get up - needs water but he's pretty sure it got shut off. It's a bitch paying with soldier's wage. And when you have to buy your girlfriend nice things... sometimes you go to a less reputable source for your weed.
That was just the way the cookie crumbled. Goddamn, he could go for a cookie right now.
"Never.. smoking weed... again," he gets out, needing to hear the words aloud even from himself.
"Liar," Mitch chuckles in his ear, and he jumps, actually moving this time as he's crashing to the floor. Too bad the table was in the way.
He wakes up with a concussion pretty sure he wasn't lying.
-5-
He knows it's a dream, but that's what makes it weird. John usually doesn't have these push me-pull you puppet dreams everyone's always touting. And he's grateful for that. This.. feels too impersonal. This isn't telling him what he needs to know, just forcing him to go through the motions like another day's work.
Then the dude passes the bong and it's all over. All his self-righteous agenda and what have you - all gone bye-bye. Even in dreamland, he can feel himself thrashing on his too-small bed. He wonders idly if Rodney's there with him; he can't force enough feeling into his extremities to know for sure.
Michael's here and that really doesn't make sense. Not when he's tutting John like his child, telling him to go to the infirmary and wait his turn. And those certainly don't make sense in one sentence. And that's when he notices...
Michael doesn't have any eyebrows.
"You don't have any eyebrows," he points out. He's so helpful.
And Michael raises the skin that would have an eyebrow if he had been any more human, and John finds that.. well, really freaking funny.
"Sheppard, you're sick."
Whose voice is that? Michael's saying it but it sounds warped... like someone else familiar. Someone closer; better.
"Rodney?"
The man's looking down at him, arms folded across his chest like he's done something wrong. And hell, who knows, maybe he has. It's still the best thing he's seen all night.
"Where'd Michael go?"
Rodney blinks, his eyebrows shooting for the sky.
"And why doesn't he have any eyebrows."
Apparently, Rodney hadn't noticed that before either.
-& once-
Slamming down his shot on the table, he motions Collie for another. The man's blue eyes are questioning, but he wouldn't dare voice an opinion aloud, to his CO and now manager.
"At ease, soldier," John says, inclining his head towards the other man as he slams back another shot. "Permission to speak freely granted."
As drunk as he is, John knows what the other man is thinking.
Collie just gaups at him like a fish, sliding another shot across the bar.
John shrugs and slams the next one home just as quickly.
"I think... you've had enough." John stares at the Lieutenant for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. "I'm serious."
John sobers in a flash. "I know."
Collie blinks.
"Do a shot with me."
"What? But, I'm on duty..."
"You work at a bar. Come on, don't be so uptight. Do a shot with me!" He slams his fist down on the bar and Collie jumps, pouring two shots in record time.
"One... two..." He downs his shot before three can even materialize in his head.
"Three," Collie intones good-naturedly, throwing back his shot with a bit of a shudder.
"Don't ever change, kid," John orders, pushing up and away from the bar.
Brian just smiles and watches John weeble and totter back to his quarters.
A few minutes after he's managed to throw himself across his bed, his comm springs to life.
"Collie to Sheppard. Did ya make it in one piece?"
"I sure did, Lieutenant. Told you I could hold my liquor."
"Wouldn't never doubt it, sir."
"Shep... out," he managed, tugging his comm out of his ear and watching with some amusement as it skittered across the floor.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face, impending hangover already apparent to his Ruus-addled mind.
Muse: Colonel John Sheppard
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1708
-1-
John's young, and inexperienced doesn't even begin to describe it. But he marches right up and into the club, barely pausing for approval from the bouncer.
He's always wanted to do this - seen it in movies - it was just what he needed. Perfect for tonight.
Someone approaches him pretty quick and he tries to calm his twittering frame. No need to appear even more naive than he is.
"You want in?" the guy asks, and his pesky little laugh has John wanting to say no. But he just nods, licking suddenly chapped lips.
He nods, handing John a pill under the glittering lights and John dry-swallows it, easy. He's underage and he really doesn't want to get rejected by the bar, even though he doubts he will be.
For a minute, cold panic seizes his gut and he feels like he's fallen down the rabbit hole.. and drank the wrong potion. He feels a million sizes too small for himself; his hands, his face feel normal. But the rest of him? Tiny and useless.
Taking a deep breath, he forces himself back on the dance floor, his shoulder brushing a stranger's in an average caress... It leaves John shuddering and he wants more.
And then he's dancing, dancing crazy, and he doesn't even notice, but every time he touches someone.. even by accident - especially then - he can't fucking believe how good it feels. And all the flashing lights are like some terribly wonderful overstimulation.
He remembers thinking, a drink would kill me right now.
And even though he's pretty sure sex might kill him too.. it doesn't stop him from following the older couple home like a lost puppy. The blonde even pets him for being well-mannered and patient all the way back to their apartment.
-2-
He's barely just joined up, and already cracking under the pressure. Mitch, he's already been serving a year, and he just laughs - tells John to meet him on the porch.
"Can I bring Nancy?" Mitch waggles his eyebrows and chuckles out an affirmative.
9 o'clock and it feels like high school again. Just off the encampment on someone's porch, smoking a blunt - John feels on top of the world.
Nancy doesn't know what to do with the roach she's past, and John pats her on the back soothingly as she coughs up her beginner's lung.
"It's okay; you're alright," he hums, taking the thing from her before she can do some real damage.
John's floating and free, and the sky's swimming overhead. Hell, he's swimming down below. And it's nice. So nice. Boot camp was a real bitch.
"Got any food, Mitchell?" A packet of Dorito's hits him in the face and it's fucking hilarious - he can barely come up for air. In fact, he manages just long enough to get the bag open and offer it to Nancy. Who he's just realized is sleeping soundly on his shoulder.
Shrugging, he settles back and shifts her into his lap so he can share the chips with Mitch instead. And they sat there, under the stars and in relative silence, drinking in the sky and waiting for their shot at it.
-3-
He remembers saying dropping acid would be a very bad idea. That doesn't explain how he wound up here, alone, in the grass.. surrounded by snakes. And it's not that snakes bother him, not usually, but anything that's trying to eat him is bad news and these snakes most definitely think he's delicious. But then he's laughing and maybe, maybe they just want to tickle him after all.
Her voice sounds loud and tinny to his ears, and everything's shaking from the force of her walk. She's only a small girl, but it scares John all the same.
"Stop that," he orders her, turning over on his grass bed so he can't feel the shaking anymore.
He pictures her frown.
"I want to know how the world ends," and he knew she was ready to show him.
She takes his hand and helps him stand up... and somehow, it's comforting to know he can shake the Earth too. He wonders if she's gone mute - she hasn't said a thing since they got out here. She points to the sky then, still clutching John's hand, and he feels it bleed, watching the red wash down onto the buildings below like watercolor past its expiration.
"Funny. I always thought it would be aliens."
Then she's gone and he's falling - off this precipice and he hears the roaring of red all around him, sees it coat his flesh and try to drown him, but it can't and he's floating...
He looks over and his gun is lying there, but he doesn't reach for it, just stares. And then it grows feet and runs away. Against the protest of creaky muscles from such a fall, he gets up to follow the gun creature. It leads him to a huge oak tree. Detachedly, he watches it climb as far as it can and disappear from sight. He was never meant to be a soldier anyway.
Sighing, he slumps at the base of the tree, feeling its knowledge surround him. It's an old tree - a red leaf falls in his hair and he thinks the sky is falling. When he realizes it isn't, he's infinitely relieved. The branches stretch down, patting his back in motions that are more like scratches, but he doesn't mind. The world's not ending yet and that's what matters.
He looks up in time to see his gun whizzing through the air, cutting it like butter as flakes of matter rain over him. He thinks the gun will hit him, but he doesn't feel it impact.
And then he can't see, but he can taste black.
-4-
A bad trip and he's shuddering, shaking on the edge of the couch. He thinks he might fall off, but he never does. He's starting to suspect he hasn't moved at all since he landed here.
He wants food but he can't get up - needs water but he's pretty sure it got shut off. It's a bitch paying with soldier's wage. And when you have to buy your girlfriend nice things... sometimes you go to a less reputable source for your weed.
That was just the way the cookie crumbled. Goddamn, he could go for a cookie right now.
"Never.. smoking weed... again," he gets out, needing to hear the words aloud even from himself.
"Liar," Mitch chuckles in his ear, and he jumps, actually moving this time as he's crashing to the floor. Too bad the table was in the way.
He wakes up with a concussion pretty sure he wasn't lying.
-5-
He knows it's a dream, but that's what makes it weird. John usually doesn't have these push me-pull you puppet dreams everyone's always touting. And he's grateful for that. This.. feels too impersonal. This isn't telling him what he needs to know, just forcing him to go through the motions like another day's work.
Then the dude passes the bong and it's all over. All his self-righteous agenda and what have you - all gone bye-bye. Even in dreamland, he can feel himself thrashing on his too-small bed. He wonders idly if Rodney's there with him; he can't force enough feeling into his extremities to know for sure.
Michael's here and that really doesn't make sense. Not when he's tutting John like his child, telling him to go to the infirmary and wait his turn. And those certainly don't make sense in one sentence. And that's when he notices...
Michael doesn't have any eyebrows.
"You don't have any eyebrows," he points out. He's so helpful.
And Michael raises the skin that would have an eyebrow if he had been any more human, and John finds that.. well, really freaking funny.
"Sheppard, you're sick."
Whose voice is that? Michael's saying it but it sounds warped... like someone else familiar. Someone closer; better.
"Rodney?"
The man's looking down at him, arms folded across his chest like he's done something wrong. And hell, who knows, maybe he has. It's still the best thing he's seen all night.
"Where'd Michael go?"
Rodney blinks, his eyebrows shooting for the sky.
"And why doesn't he have any eyebrows."
Apparently, Rodney hadn't noticed that before either.
-& once-
Slamming down his shot on the table, he motions Collie for another. The man's blue eyes are questioning, but he wouldn't dare voice an opinion aloud, to his CO and now manager.
"At ease, soldier," John says, inclining his head towards the other man as he slams back another shot. "Permission to speak freely granted."
As drunk as he is, John knows what the other man is thinking.
Collie just gaups at him like a fish, sliding another shot across the bar.
John shrugs and slams the next one home just as quickly.
"I think... you've had enough." John stares at the Lieutenant for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. "I'm serious."
John sobers in a flash. "I know."
Collie blinks.
"Do a shot with me."
"What? But, I'm on duty..."
"You work at a bar. Come on, don't be so uptight. Do a shot with me!" He slams his fist down on the bar and Collie jumps, pouring two shots in record time.
"One... two..." He downs his shot before three can even materialize in his head.
"Three," Collie intones good-naturedly, throwing back his shot with a bit of a shudder.
"Don't ever change, kid," John orders, pushing up and away from the bar.
Brian just smiles and watches John weeble and totter back to his quarters.
A few minutes after he's managed to throw himself across his bed, his comm springs to life.
"Collie to Sheppard. Did ya make it in one piece?"
"I sure did, Lieutenant. Told you I could hold my liquor."
"Wouldn't never doubt it, sir."
"Shep... out," he managed, tugging his comm out of his ear and watching with some amusement as it skittered across the floor.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face, impending hangover already apparent to his Ruus-addled mind.
Muse: Colonel John Sheppard
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1708