Fic: Chicken Soup for the Ally's Soul (SGA, 1/1)
I, uh, I'd like to apologize in advance for this. Especially since I'm posting it on the day after Thanksgiving. But, um ... I think I've read too much Ambrose Bierce, and we'll leave it at that.
Title: Chicken Soup for the Ally's Soul
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Rating: Teen Plus
Characters: John, Teyla, Rodney, Ronon
Pairings: None
Word Count: 576
Time: 15 minutes
Warnings: (highlight for fic spoilers) Cannibalism
Summary: Response to 15minuteficlets, Word #131. John Sheppard and company are invited to a feast by some friendly Pegasus natives.
"We have prepared a feast in your honor," announced the local leader, Grandin something-or-other. "It is only proper, for what you did to recover our lost princess."
"Oh, no, we couldn't --" John started, beginning in on the typical self-deprecating speech. Unfortunately, the effect was somewhat undermined by the fact that, as the doors to the palace hall slowly opened, McKay and Ronon both took a half-step forwards, staring in awe at the incredible array of food before them. John could almost see the drool trickling down his teammate's faces.
"Nonsense," interrupted Grandin. "You must accept our hospitality, Colonel."
John looked to Teyla, who glided forwards to gently clasp Grandin's hand. "We would be honored to attend your feast, Lord Tractile."
"Oh, yeah. You can say that again," McKay said eagerly. "Hey, is that pumpkin pie?"
"It looks good," Ronon replied, and dipped his fingers into the dark brownish-orange substance. He raised his hand to his lips and licked off the thick filling. "It is good."
"What are you doing?" McKay asked, startled.
"Eating," Ronon replied, with a roll of his eyes.
"No, no, that's not how you eat pumpkin pie! You're supposed to cut it into slices, not ..."
John disregarded Rodney's rant on the proper consumption of pie and stepped towards the table, following somewhat hesitantly behind Teyla. To be honest, he wasn't particularly hungry -- unlike his eternally voracious teammates -- but he wasn't entirely sure that refusing food would be in the best interests of trade relations. Still, how little food could he get away with eating?
Grandin pointed eagerly at a steaming cauldron. "We must begin with the Hashek soup. It is the traditional first course, eaten by all those whose alliances are cemented in blood."
Okay, that sounded a little weird. But Teyla seemed to be stepping up towards the bowl with no trepidation whatsoever. As the residential expert in all things local, she chose the course of action; so John followed her lead.
Lord Tractile passed around bowls, and then pulled the pot off the top of the soup. John had to admit that it smelled pretty good -- warm and tangy and a little like chicken. Pity it wasn't turkey, but he couldn't have everything.
Grandin dipped his bowl into the soup and raised it to his lips. "To new alliances."
John and his team followed suit, joining in with a ragged chorus. "To new alliances."
The soup tingled on his tongue as he drank, and warmly worked its way down his throat. He thought it had smelled good, but it definitely tasted better.
"Mm, this is really good," McKay said. "What's in it? I could stand to have some of this stuff back on Atlantis. Not that I would want chicken soup all the time, of course, but --"
"McKay," John said darkly, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
Grandin was frowning. "What is this chicken you speak of?"
"It's a kind of meat," John replied. "It's from a bird."
That did not, however, alleviate Grandin's puzzlement. "You eat the meat of birds?"
Okay, this was beginning to get a little weird again. "Yes," John said hesitantly, "don't you?"
The leader shook his head. "No. We eat only the meat of our enemies, and only to cement the bonds of friendship."
John swallowed. "Your enemies. Like those people that we killed while saving the princess?"
Grandin smiled. "Why, yes."
The soup tasted considerably worse on the way up.
Title: Chicken Soup for the Ally's Soul
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Rating: Teen Plus
Characters: John, Teyla, Rodney, Ronon
Pairings: None
Word Count: 576
Time: 15 minutes
Warnings: (highlight for fic spoilers) Cannibalism
Summary: Response to 15minuteficlets, Word #131. John Sheppard and company are invited to a feast by some friendly Pegasus natives.
"We have prepared a feast in your honor," announced the local leader, Grandin something-or-other. "It is only proper, for what you did to recover our lost princess."
"Oh, no, we couldn't --" John started, beginning in on the typical self-deprecating speech. Unfortunately, the effect was somewhat undermined by the fact that, as the doors to the palace hall slowly opened, McKay and Ronon both took a half-step forwards, staring in awe at the incredible array of food before them. John could almost see the drool trickling down his teammate's faces.
"Nonsense," interrupted Grandin. "You must accept our hospitality, Colonel."
John looked to Teyla, who glided forwards to gently clasp Grandin's hand. "We would be honored to attend your feast, Lord Tractile."
"Oh, yeah. You can say that again," McKay said eagerly. "Hey, is that pumpkin pie?"
"It looks good," Ronon replied, and dipped his fingers into the dark brownish-orange substance. He raised his hand to his lips and licked off the thick filling. "It is good."
"What are you doing?" McKay asked, startled.
"Eating," Ronon replied, with a roll of his eyes.
"No, no, that's not how you eat pumpkin pie! You're supposed to cut it into slices, not ..."
John disregarded Rodney's rant on the proper consumption of pie and stepped towards the table, following somewhat hesitantly behind Teyla. To be honest, he wasn't particularly hungry -- unlike his eternally voracious teammates -- but he wasn't entirely sure that refusing food would be in the best interests of trade relations. Still, how little food could he get away with eating?
Grandin pointed eagerly at a steaming cauldron. "We must begin with the Hashek soup. It is the traditional first course, eaten by all those whose alliances are cemented in blood."
Okay, that sounded a little weird. But Teyla seemed to be stepping up towards the bowl with no trepidation whatsoever. As the residential expert in all things local, she chose the course of action; so John followed her lead.
Lord Tractile passed around bowls, and then pulled the pot off the top of the soup. John had to admit that it smelled pretty good -- warm and tangy and a little like chicken. Pity it wasn't turkey, but he couldn't have everything.
Grandin dipped his bowl into the soup and raised it to his lips. "To new alliances."
John and his team followed suit, joining in with a ragged chorus. "To new alliances."
The soup tingled on his tongue as he drank, and warmly worked its way down his throat. He thought it had smelled good, but it definitely tasted better.
"Mm, this is really good," McKay said. "What's in it? I could stand to have some of this stuff back on Atlantis. Not that I would want chicken soup all the time, of course, but --"
"McKay," John said darkly, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
Grandin was frowning. "What is this chicken you speak of?"
"It's a kind of meat," John replied. "It's from a bird."
That did not, however, alleviate Grandin's puzzlement. "You eat the meat of birds?"
Okay, this was beginning to get a little weird again. "Yes," John said hesitantly, "don't you?"
The leader shook his head. "No. We eat only the meat of our enemies, and only to cement the bonds of friendship."
John swallowed. "Your enemies. Like those people that we killed while saving the princess?"
Grandin smiled. "Why, yes."
The soup tasted considerably worse on the way up.