(no subject)
So, I did a drabble-request thread over at my main journal, and figured I might as well post the results over here.
Ratings range from PG to R, pretty much.
request: albert, jules, fab, nick, or various permutations thereof! GO.
drabble:
julian has sharp nails and sharp teeth and sharp eyes, and sometimes he notices the stupidest little things. he notices stupid things, and sometimes he leans to whisper them in nick's ear, stupid things like, "haha, you must think that chick is pretty hot, huh?"
and nick, nick will laugh and say things that may or may not be true, like "aw, nobody's as hot as you, jules," and try to fill his mind with thoughts of rot and death or maybe cute baby animals, whatever helps refocus his mind best.
sometimes, sometimes that doesn't work and julian will grin; nick will say, "i've gotta go take a piss" and go try to find the bathroom. sometimes he's telling the truth, but usually all he does is go to the bathroom and beat himself off while (not) thinking about julian.
sometimes, when julian's not too drunk and nick's too subtle, sometimes julian will wait a minute or two then follow after. and they'll end up in a dirty stall, usually nick with his back against a tiled wall.
julian will shove up close against him, lick and bite at skin. nick's back will be cold, marked by the press of tile and fabric against it. julian's hands will grab at his sides, going through instinctive motions (sliding up underneath nick's shirt, feeling him up the same way he'd feel up a girl) before pulling nick's shirt off and letting it drop to the floor. nick will arc his back, rock his hips forward so they grind up against julian's. the friction will, usually, get nick harder than he already was (how much can vary on how much he's had to drink, how much he's managed to distract himself, how much he cares).
sometimes julian will go down on him, clever tongue and lips drawing him in and in and in, swallowing when he comes. sometimes they're both too impatient and will end up both coming in their pants; sometimes they'll give each other furious-quick handjobs, suppressing little moans and bits of noise against each other's lips. (sometimes julian will drag his teeth hard enough -- anywhere, really, against nick's lips or neck or stomach or inner thigh -- to make him bleed, staining his own lips with brightbrilliant red.)
nights like that, nick is in love with the world, thinks they really are the saviors of rock and roll, thinks nothing can stop them.
sometimes, julian will get drunk and wander off and end up with some girl nick has never heard of (will never hear of). nights like that, nick will go home (alone) and play pikmin (alone) and end up asleep (alone) before one.
nights like that, nick wishes things were different.
request: carl ponders flowers.
drabble:
[info]kaitoucheckers
2006-02-07 12:45 am UTC (link) DeleteFreezeScreen Select
well, isn't this a cheerful little thing?
---
Whoever it is that lives across the street grows flowers. Carl's never actually seen who it is that lives in the old building, just that they have a chain-link fence around their tiny lot, and that lot if filled with flowers, bright sprays of colour that overtake the narrow path to the old wooden door.
Carl ponders taking some of them, sometimes: alstroemeria, azaleas, rosemary and jasmine. It would be taking, not stealing, if he were to climb the fence and cut some flowers for himself. There's no sign anyone lives there, save the neatly-tended flowers.
He's not sure just what he'd do with them if he had them; flowers wilt quickly, and have always seemed a bit frivolous to Carl. Their beauty doesn't last.
The weather will turn soon and the flowers will fade, wrinkling and turning brown, their place usurped by rich green leaves.
Carl stares out the window one afternoon. Anthony asks him what he's looking for, and Carl says, "I have no idea. I think I'm, no, I don't know."
"Okay," Anthony says slowly. "Sure. You wanna watch the soccer -- football, whatever -- match?"
"I'm going out," Carl says, and he pulls on a heavy jacket. (The weather calls for other coats. Carl can't be bothered to look for one more suitable.) "See you tonight. Still have to go to that party of Annalisa's, right?"
"Right. We gotta be ready by six." Anthony says, "Are you sure you're alright?"
---
Carl knows where Pete lives now. It's not something he likes to admit, but he's kept track of Pete's address through it all, even during the times when he insisted he had no idea where Pete was or what he was up to. It was impossible not to.
Carl cuts the flowers, ties them together in a bundle with a piece of twine. He scrambles back over the fence and heads to Pete's current flat.
Pete's not there, though some underage-looking girl is. She says, "oh, wait, what? I, whoa, flowers. Wow, those are, the colours. Whoa." Her pupils are huge; there are deep purple circles surrounding her eyes. "Hey, you're the one that, like, Pete, he, whoa. Whoa, oh my god, oh god, I need another hit." She starts scratching at her arms, biting down on her lip. "You want a drink?"
Carl says "no" and, on the way home, throws away the flowers.
----
"Heyy," Didz says, "hey, look what I found in the trash outside. Who'd throw these away?"
"I don't know," Carl says. "I have no idea."
"They're too fresh to be wasted like that, anyway. Here, you should put them in a vase or something, with water. Haha, Annalisa might fancy them. A little colour to brighten the place up."
"Alright," Carl says, "fine."
(Carl presses a few of the flowers in between the pages of an old book and, days later, stuffs them into an envelope to send to Pete. He doesn't put his name, his address, anything on it, just has Didz write down the address and send it for him.
"You know he'll never have any idea who sent this, right?"
"Yeah," Carl says, "yeah, no, he'll know. I hope. He might."
He never gets any proof either way and tries not to let himself remember, later.)
request: gorillaz slash, any combo + existentialist crisis, go!
drabble:
"Muds," 2-D whines, voice higher than usual. "Murdoc, hey, listen, this is important! I've got a question!"
"What?" Murdoc asks with a resigned sigh, turning away from the (crooked-toothed red-eyed) girl he's trying to chat up. "Can't you see I'm about to pull here?"
"What if we don't exist?"
"What are you on about this time, numb nuts?"
"I was thinking, you know, what if we're all just in somebody's head or something. Like, what if all of this is a dream and we're not real and we're actually some ... like, you know on television, what if we're just like that?"
"What?" Murdoc says, undoing the button of his trousers.
"What?" says the girl Murdoc was chatting up, doing a few more buttons on her shirt up again.
"What do cartoons do when they're not being drawn an' stuff?"
"Oh, for god's sake, Stu-Pot," Murdoc says. One leg snaps through the air, connects with 2-D's stomach and sends the singer sprawling to the ground. "You think a cartoon would have felt that?"
"Ow." 2-D clutches at his stomach, voice rising another octave. "I think you broke my kidneys."
"Aren't kidneys in the back?" the girl asks; Murdoc puts an arm around her waist, tugging her closer.
"What say we find out, love?" he asks, breathing in her ear.
"My kidneys," 2-D says again.
"Ew," the girl says, "that's just sort of weird. Go away."
"Come on, you know you want a piece of it." Murdoc nudges her a few times with his hips, squeezing her (somewhat bony) ass. He leers, growling a little, and she pulls away.
"I mean," 2-D says, "anyway, if we are real, what's the point?"
"The point is to shag as many girls as possible," Murdoc says, grabbing the girl again. She wriggles away and runs off before he can kiss her. "Yeah, well, fuck you too, you dirty slag."
2-D gets to his feet, still rubbing at his stomach. "Yeah, but I mean, what if --"
"You lost me my bird and you're being annoying. I'd say it's about time you stop talking."
"Well, I don't know, I think that girl didn't like you anyway, really, she just wanted you for your body --"
"And I wanted her for hers. That was the point."
"But you smell bad."
"And?"
"And you're a bad kisser, anyway. That's what your last girl told me, at least."
"And when'd she tell you that?"
"Uhm," 2-D says.
"I'll prove her wrong, anyway," Murdoc says, and he can't despite his best efforts. (There are other things he's alright at, and a few things he's very good at, but kissing is definitely one of his failures, which 2-D reminds him of constantly for the next month.)
request: Either Blur, Damon and Graham or Strokes, Nick and Albert. Uh, 'Star'.
drabble:
Graham had one hand splayed out, fingertips pressed up against the window. The van's engine rumbled, making vague discontent noises, and Graham slowly pulled his hand down to leave dark clear streaks on the steamed-up glass. Outside, the weather grew colder, the sky darker (fading from blue to orange to purple at the corners).
"Don't do that," Damon says, "you'll get oil all over the window and it'll be impossible to clean."
Graham looks at him for a moment, eyes narrow over his glasses, before turning back to the window where he starts drawing stars.
"I mean it," Damon says, and this time both Alex and Dave -- who were keeping themselves occupied trying to play Scrabble despite the bumpy road -- turn to look at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Dave says, "nothing."
"Fucking hell." Graham closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples. "This is absurd."
"Stop whining."
"I'm not whining. You're being stupid, that's all."
"Oh, I'm the one who's being stupid, am I --"
"Stop it," Dave said, "seriously, Damon, take a nap or something. Let Graham alone."
"Him drawing on the windows doesn't matter that much," Alex added. "Let it go."
"Yeah, you're being immature." Graham raised his arm up, using it to wipe the whole window free of condensation all at once. "I need something to drink. I can't put up with this kind of treatment. You're supposed to be my friend, aren't you? At least Dave'n Alex have got their priorities straight."
"Alex," Damon said, "Alex, you're sane. Tell Graham what a wanker he's being."
"Now you're not even talking to me?"
"I'm not going to -- you realize how childish you're both being right now, right? Please tell me you do."
"I'm not the one being childish. It's him all obsessed with drawing on the fucking windows is being childish."
"This is the stupidest argument I've heard in a while." Dave settled back in his seat, stretching out his legs. He closed his eyes. "I suggest you all stop talking so I can get some sleep."
"Now you're being as bad as him." Graham leaned over to jab Damon in the side. "You hear that? Dave's almost as immature as you are."
"What do you think," Alex said, "it would be like if we all lived on the moon?"
"What?" Damon said.
"What?" Graham said.
"Wait, what?" Dave said, opening his eyes again.
"You heard what I said. What'd it be like?"
"What's that got to do with anything? You're all, fuck, I don't even know why I'm friends with you."
"I don't know, I think it'd be sort of fun with no gravity. You can't tell me it wouldn't be fun to jump around a bit, practically fly and all."
"Be a bit less tiresome performing, I guess." Damon shrugged. "Though, I don't know, if I jumped too much I might end up drifting off into space. Ahh! You know, suffocation, being eternally lost, that just doesn't sound very appealing."
"We could keep you on a leash," Alex said. "You know, a nice tether to make sure you didn't run off too far, either."
"I don't know, I think that'd be more useful for Graham."
"Shut up. I'm not listening to any of you."
"No?" Dave raised an eyebrow, twisting around in his seat to look Graham in the eye. Graham ducked his head down again.
"No."
"That explains a lot," Damon said. "Really, it does."
request: Niou and Yagyuu meet John and Rodney. "So what you're saying is we could have used tennis to defeat the Wraith?"
drabble:
"Tornadoes," Rodney says. "You can make tornadoes."
"With tennis," John adds helpfully.
"Yup," Niou says. He shoves his hands into his pockets, blowing several strands of hair out of his eyes. "Whoa, hey, is that a dinosaur?"
"What? Where?" Rodney looks startled, scrabbling to find a gun he doesn't have. "Oh my god, we're going to be eaten by a dinosaur. John, kill it. Find it and kill it."
"I don't see any," John says, then, "wait, where did the other one go?"
"What other one?" Niou beams.
"The other one who looked like you."
"With the glasses," Rodney adds. "He definitely had glasses."
Niou pushes his glasses up. "I'm the only one of me here. Nice city you've got here, by the way. I like it."
"Yes, it is quite fascinating," says Yagyuu, who's now holding a bit of Ancient technology John could have sworn was supposed to be in some lab somewhere halfway across Atlantis.
"There is another one of you!"
"Oh, no, that's not me. That's Niou."
"No, you're Niou."
"You are."
"No, you," and then the one with the glasses tackles the one without glasses and they knock into a very delicate piece of Ancient equipment.
"Oh god," Rodney says, "we're hallucinating. A tornado," he says again, just for good measure. "Tennis balls do not make tornadoes."
"You'd be surprised," Niou (or maybe Yagyuu) says, standing up and dusting himself off. "I mean, that ship wouldn't have blown up if it wasn't for that."
"Maybe it malfunctioned," Rodney decides. "That's it. Some sort of technical malfunction in the Wraith ship."
"So what you're saying," John says, "is we could have used tennis to defeat the Wraith. This whole time we could have just... used tennis at them."
"Well," Niou says, "well, you all look pretty military. I doubt any of you are good enough."
"We play doubles," Yagyuu adds brightly.
"I could play tennis," John says. "I can fly the Puddlejumpers. I make Ancient technology work. I'm a diplomat. I could play tennis."
"Real men," Yagyuu (or maybe Niou) says breezily, "play doubles."
"A tornado," Rodney says again.
"You could stand to be in better shape, Rodney."
"What."
"Doubles."
"No."
"We could beat the Wraith."
"You could beat the Wraith!"
"If I agree," Rodney says, "you have to tell me how exactly it is that you violate the fundamental laws of physics."
"Eh," Niou says. "Sure. Hey, so do you have stuff I could blow shit up with?"
More to be added later!!
Also, this is an open call for drabble-requests, I guess, not that many of you read this ... er. Well, consider it open anyway.
Ratings range from PG to R, pretty much.
request: albert, jules, fab, nick, or various permutations thereof! GO.
drabble:
julian has sharp nails and sharp teeth and sharp eyes, and sometimes he notices the stupidest little things. he notices stupid things, and sometimes he leans to whisper them in nick's ear, stupid things like, "haha, you must think that chick is pretty hot, huh?"
and nick, nick will laugh and say things that may or may not be true, like "aw, nobody's as hot as you, jules," and try to fill his mind with thoughts of rot and death or maybe cute baby animals, whatever helps refocus his mind best.
sometimes, sometimes that doesn't work and julian will grin; nick will say, "i've gotta go take a piss" and go try to find the bathroom. sometimes he's telling the truth, but usually all he does is go to the bathroom and beat himself off while (not) thinking about julian.
sometimes, when julian's not too drunk and nick's too subtle, sometimes julian will wait a minute or two then follow after. and they'll end up in a dirty stall, usually nick with his back against a tiled wall.
julian will shove up close against him, lick and bite at skin. nick's back will be cold, marked by the press of tile and fabric against it. julian's hands will grab at his sides, going through instinctive motions (sliding up underneath nick's shirt, feeling him up the same way he'd feel up a girl) before pulling nick's shirt off and letting it drop to the floor. nick will arc his back, rock his hips forward so they grind up against julian's. the friction will, usually, get nick harder than he already was (how much can vary on how much he's had to drink, how much he's managed to distract himself, how much he cares).
sometimes julian will go down on him, clever tongue and lips drawing him in and in and in, swallowing when he comes. sometimes they're both too impatient and will end up both coming in their pants; sometimes they'll give each other furious-quick handjobs, suppressing little moans and bits of noise against each other's lips. (sometimes julian will drag his teeth hard enough -- anywhere, really, against nick's lips or neck or stomach or inner thigh -- to make him bleed, staining his own lips with brightbrilliant red.)
nights like that, nick is in love with the world, thinks they really are the saviors of rock and roll, thinks nothing can stop them.
sometimes, julian will get drunk and wander off and end up with some girl nick has never heard of (will never hear of). nights like that, nick will go home (alone) and play pikmin (alone) and end up asleep (alone) before one.
nights like that, nick wishes things were different.
request: carl ponders flowers.
drabble:
[info]kaitoucheckers
2006-02-07 12:45 am UTC (link) DeleteFreezeScreen Select
well, isn't this a cheerful little thing?
---
Whoever it is that lives across the street grows flowers. Carl's never actually seen who it is that lives in the old building, just that they have a chain-link fence around their tiny lot, and that lot if filled with flowers, bright sprays of colour that overtake the narrow path to the old wooden door.
Carl ponders taking some of them, sometimes: alstroemeria, azaleas, rosemary and jasmine. It would be taking, not stealing, if he were to climb the fence and cut some flowers for himself. There's no sign anyone lives there, save the neatly-tended flowers.
He's not sure just what he'd do with them if he had them; flowers wilt quickly, and have always seemed a bit frivolous to Carl. Their beauty doesn't last.
The weather will turn soon and the flowers will fade, wrinkling and turning brown, their place usurped by rich green leaves.
Carl stares out the window one afternoon. Anthony asks him what he's looking for, and Carl says, "I have no idea. I think I'm, no, I don't know."
"Okay," Anthony says slowly. "Sure. You wanna watch the soccer -- football, whatever -- match?"
"I'm going out," Carl says, and he pulls on a heavy jacket. (The weather calls for other coats. Carl can't be bothered to look for one more suitable.) "See you tonight. Still have to go to that party of Annalisa's, right?"
"Right. We gotta be ready by six." Anthony says, "Are you sure you're alright?"
---
Carl knows where Pete lives now. It's not something he likes to admit, but he's kept track of Pete's address through it all, even during the times when he insisted he had no idea where Pete was or what he was up to. It was impossible not to.
Carl cuts the flowers, ties them together in a bundle with a piece of twine. He scrambles back over the fence and heads to Pete's current flat.
Pete's not there, though some underage-looking girl is. She says, "oh, wait, what? I, whoa, flowers. Wow, those are, the colours. Whoa." Her pupils are huge; there are deep purple circles surrounding her eyes. "Hey, you're the one that, like, Pete, he, whoa. Whoa, oh my god, oh god, I need another hit." She starts scratching at her arms, biting down on her lip. "You want a drink?"
Carl says "no" and, on the way home, throws away the flowers.
----
"Heyy," Didz says, "hey, look what I found in the trash outside. Who'd throw these away?"
"I don't know," Carl says. "I have no idea."
"They're too fresh to be wasted like that, anyway. Here, you should put them in a vase or something, with water. Haha, Annalisa might fancy them. A little colour to brighten the place up."
"Alright," Carl says, "fine."
(Carl presses a few of the flowers in between the pages of an old book and, days later, stuffs them into an envelope to send to Pete. He doesn't put his name, his address, anything on it, just has Didz write down the address and send it for him.
"You know he'll never have any idea who sent this, right?"
"Yeah," Carl says, "yeah, no, he'll know. I hope. He might."
He never gets any proof either way and tries not to let himself remember, later.)
request: gorillaz slash, any combo + existentialist crisis, go!
drabble:
"Muds," 2-D whines, voice higher than usual. "Murdoc, hey, listen, this is important! I've got a question!"
"What?" Murdoc asks with a resigned sigh, turning away from the (crooked-toothed red-eyed) girl he's trying to chat up. "Can't you see I'm about to pull here?"
"What if we don't exist?"
"What are you on about this time, numb nuts?"
"I was thinking, you know, what if we're all just in somebody's head or something. Like, what if all of this is a dream and we're not real and we're actually some ... like, you know on television, what if we're just like that?"
"What?" Murdoc says, undoing the button of his trousers.
"What?" says the girl Murdoc was chatting up, doing a few more buttons on her shirt up again.
"What do cartoons do when they're not being drawn an' stuff?"
"Oh, for god's sake, Stu-Pot," Murdoc says. One leg snaps through the air, connects with 2-D's stomach and sends the singer sprawling to the ground. "You think a cartoon would have felt that?"
"Ow." 2-D clutches at his stomach, voice rising another octave. "I think you broke my kidneys."
"Aren't kidneys in the back?" the girl asks; Murdoc puts an arm around her waist, tugging her closer.
"What say we find out, love?" he asks, breathing in her ear.
"My kidneys," 2-D says again.
"Ew," the girl says, "that's just sort of weird. Go away."
"Come on, you know you want a piece of it." Murdoc nudges her a few times with his hips, squeezing her (somewhat bony) ass. He leers, growling a little, and she pulls away.
"I mean," 2-D says, "anyway, if we are real, what's the point?"
"The point is to shag as many girls as possible," Murdoc says, grabbing the girl again. She wriggles away and runs off before he can kiss her. "Yeah, well, fuck you too, you dirty slag."
2-D gets to his feet, still rubbing at his stomach. "Yeah, but I mean, what if --"
"You lost me my bird and you're being annoying. I'd say it's about time you stop talking."
"Well, I don't know, I think that girl didn't like you anyway, really, she just wanted you for your body --"
"And I wanted her for hers. That was the point."
"But you smell bad."
"And?"
"And you're a bad kisser, anyway. That's what your last girl told me, at least."
"And when'd she tell you that?"
"Uhm," 2-D says.
"I'll prove her wrong, anyway," Murdoc says, and he can't despite his best efforts. (There are other things he's alright at, and a few things he's very good at, but kissing is definitely one of his failures, which 2-D reminds him of constantly for the next month.)
request: Either Blur, Damon and Graham or Strokes, Nick and Albert. Uh, 'Star'.
drabble:
Graham had one hand splayed out, fingertips pressed up against the window. The van's engine rumbled, making vague discontent noises, and Graham slowly pulled his hand down to leave dark clear streaks on the steamed-up glass. Outside, the weather grew colder, the sky darker (fading from blue to orange to purple at the corners).
"Don't do that," Damon says, "you'll get oil all over the window and it'll be impossible to clean."
Graham looks at him for a moment, eyes narrow over his glasses, before turning back to the window where he starts drawing stars.
"I mean it," Damon says, and this time both Alex and Dave -- who were keeping themselves occupied trying to play Scrabble despite the bumpy road -- turn to look at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Dave says, "nothing."
"Fucking hell." Graham closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples. "This is absurd."
"Stop whining."
"I'm not whining. You're being stupid, that's all."
"Oh, I'm the one who's being stupid, am I --"
"Stop it," Dave said, "seriously, Damon, take a nap or something. Let Graham alone."
"Him drawing on the windows doesn't matter that much," Alex added. "Let it go."
"Yeah, you're being immature." Graham raised his arm up, using it to wipe the whole window free of condensation all at once. "I need something to drink. I can't put up with this kind of treatment. You're supposed to be my friend, aren't you? At least Dave'n Alex have got their priorities straight."
"Alex," Damon said, "Alex, you're sane. Tell Graham what a wanker he's being."
"Now you're not even talking to me?"
"I'm not going to -- you realize how childish you're both being right now, right? Please tell me you do."
"I'm not the one being childish. It's him all obsessed with drawing on the fucking windows is being childish."
"This is the stupidest argument I've heard in a while." Dave settled back in his seat, stretching out his legs. He closed his eyes. "I suggest you all stop talking so I can get some sleep."
"Now you're being as bad as him." Graham leaned over to jab Damon in the side. "You hear that? Dave's almost as immature as you are."
"What do you think," Alex said, "it would be like if we all lived on the moon?"
"What?" Damon said.
"What?" Graham said.
"Wait, what?" Dave said, opening his eyes again.
"You heard what I said. What'd it be like?"
"What's that got to do with anything? You're all, fuck, I don't even know why I'm friends with you."
"I don't know, I think it'd be sort of fun with no gravity. You can't tell me it wouldn't be fun to jump around a bit, practically fly and all."
"Be a bit less tiresome performing, I guess." Damon shrugged. "Though, I don't know, if I jumped too much I might end up drifting off into space. Ahh! You know, suffocation, being eternally lost, that just doesn't sound very appealing."
"We could keep you on a leash," Alex said. "You know, a nice tether to make sure you didn't run off too far, either."
"I don't know, I think that'd be more useful for Graham."
"Shut up. I'm not listening to any of you."
"No?" Dave raised an eyebrow, twisting around in his seat to look Graham in the eye. Graham ducked his head down again.
"No."
"That explains a lot," Damon said. "Really, it does."
request: Niou and Yagyuu meet John and Rodney. "So what you're saying is we could have used tennis to defeat the Wraith?"
drabble:
"Tornadoes," Rodney says. "You can make tornadoes."
"With tennis," John adds helpfully.
"Yup," Niou says. He shoves his hands into his pockets, blowing several strands of hair out of his eyes. "Whoa, hey, is that a dinosaur?"
"What? Where?" Rodney looks startled, scrabbling to find a gun he doesn't have. "Oh my god, we're going to be eaten by a dinosaur. John, kill it. Find it and kill it."
"I don't see any," John says, then, "wait, where did the other one go?"
"What other one?" Niou beams.
"The other one who looked like you."
"With the glasses," Rodney adds. "He definitely had glasses."
Niou pushes his glasses up. "I'm the only one of me here. Nice city you've got here, by the way. I like it."
"Yes, it is quite fascinating," says Yagyuu, who's now holding a bit of Ancient technology John could have sworn was supposed to be in some lab somewhere halfway across Atlantis.
"There is another one of you!"
"Oh, no, that's not me. That's Niou."
"No, you're Niou."
"You are."
"No, you," and then the one with the glasses tackles the one without glasses and they knock into a very delicate piece of Ancient equipment.
"Oh god," Rodney says, "we're hallucinating. A tornado," he says again, just for good measure. "Tennis balls do not make tornadoes."
"You'd be surprised," Niou (or maybe Yagyuu) says, standing up and dusting himself off. "I mean, that ship wouldn't have blown up if it wasn't for that."
"Maybe it malfunctioned," Rodney decides. "That's it. Some sort of technical malfunction in the Wraith ship."
"So what you're saying," John says, "is we could have used tennis to defeat the Wraith. This whole time we could have just... used tennis at them."
"Well," Niou says, "well, you all look pretty military. I doubt any of you are good enough."
"We play doubles," Yagyuu adds brightly.
"I could play tennis," John says. "I can fly the Puddlejumpers. I make Ancient technology work. I'm a diplomat. I could play tennis."
"Real men," Yagyuu (or maybe Niou) says breezily, "play doubles."
"A tornado," Rodney says again.
"You could stand to be in better shape, Rodney."
"What."
"Doubles."
"No."
"We could beat the Wraith."
"You could beat the Wraith!"
"If I agree," Rodney says, "you have to tell me how exactly it is that you violate the fundamental laws of physics."
"Eh," Niou says. "Sure. Hey, so do you have stuff I could blow shit up with?"
More to be added later!!
Also, this is an open call for drabble-requests, I guess, not that many of you read this ... er. Well, consider it open anyway.