Timestamp writing game!
All right, dudes. Get ready, for I seem to (briefly) be back in the land of the fannish! I've posted an update to Words and stones this week, written a couple thousand words of my Super Fun White Collar Caper today, and I've spent the last three hours time-lining another story on post-it notes.
I am en fuego right now, so let's play the ( Read more... )
I am en fuego right now, so let's play the ( Read more... )
"Oh, excellent, excellent," said McKay, elbow deep in the guts of the puddlejumper's console, "just what we needed, your horde of admiring teeney-boppers. I'm sure that will make my work go much faster," he said, viciously twisting a coil of wire into submission as the sound of giggling drifted in the open doors.
"Look," said Sheppard, glancing back over his shoulder in a cool, not-at-all-freaked-out way, "what did you want me to do? Tell them to buzz off? They're just kids, McKay."
"Bzzt, wrong, Colonel," McKay said. He extracted his hand from the puddlejumper's innards. "Thanks for playing. They're not-- hand me the-- no, no, the other-- yeah, that, thanks." He scootched until his head and shoulders were underneath the pilot's console. "They're not," he continued, voice only slightly muffled, "just kids. They're teenage girls, the most vicious and terrifying species on this or any other planet. And for whatever reason, they have fixated on you."
Sheppard's face went very, very blank, and somewhere, way deep down in a memory he liked to ignore, Jennifer Brownlow from third period chem was plotting her elaborate revenge. He shook it off. "Rough time in junior high, huh," Sheppard said blandly, leaning back in his captain's chair.
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." McKay stuck a hand out. "Socket wrench," he demanded. John found it, and slapped the wrench into his hand. "Jeannie was inhuman from twelve until-- well. I want to say until now, but the period from twelve until sixteen was objectively worse." Something clanked in a satisfying way, and McKay said, "There you are, you gorgeous little--"
"Colonel Sheppard?" a voice trilled, and John nearly fell out of his chair in terror.
"Hoo boy," he said, and spun the chair around to face the crowd (was that even the right word? maybe it was pack, didn't girls move in packs?) of teenage girls clustered around the puddlejumper's open hatch. "Hi, girls," Sheppard said, and waved.
There was a general tittering from the pack. Their long braid twitched in excitement. Maybe anticipation.
"Make them go somewhere else," McKay hissed from his position on the floor.
"How?" returned John out of the corner of his mouth. "I don't--"
One of the girls-- Hallis, the chairman's daughter-- stepped forward. She had the look of a ring-leader, the sort of of girl who would shout, "Witch!" and then gleefully throw a barbecue. "We thought you might like something to eat, Colonel," she said sweetly, and gestured for the other girls to show the baskets they had brought. "Since you are working so hard to repair your vessel," she explained.
McKay snorted, and she looked sharply at him.
"Just a cold," Sheppard said hastily. "Don't worry about it. You ought to hear him snore."
The ring-leader's forehead wrinkled. "He should be in isolation, then," she declared, and McKay squawked, "What?" She ignored the outburst. "We could petition Masyu for the use of one of the isolation cells so that you do not become sick as well."
"No," Sheppard said, "really, I'll be fine. But thanks for the thought."
The girl shook her head, the beads at the bottom of her long braid clinking. "You could become ill, Colonel," she said, grave. "And we would not want you to be infected like," she wrinkled her nose, "that one. Why," she said, looking disgusted, "you might even lose your hair."
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"Rodney," Sheppard said, and slapped a hand over McKay's mouth. "Let's be nice to our hosts," he gritted, thinking about the negotiations he was going to have to sit through with a bunch of paranoid aliens just to get access to the damn gate, never mind dealing with an insult to the Chairman's only kid. Which--
Wait.
"Sorry," he said, and kept his hand tight over McKay's mouth. "He's-- I think you're right," Sheppard said, looking earnestly at Hallis. "Dr. McKay is very sick."
Hallis looked surprised, then pleased. "I will have my father ready a cell for him right away," she said, and bounced a little on the balls of her feet.
"That would be great," Sheppard enthused. McKay tried to bite his hand, and Sheppard used his free hand to smack him-- nicely-- on the head. "Except-- well," he said, and tried to look forlorn.
"What?" asked Hallis.
"Well, the type of cold Dr. McKay has is really catching," Sheppard explained. "We thought he was mostly over it, but." Sheppard gestured to McKay's hairline. McKay glared viciously back at him. "Obviously it's getting worse."
The pack took a collective step back, and Hallis passed an anxious hand over her hair. "And now we've all been exposed, haven't we? Too many of us to put into isolation cells. In fact," Sheppard said, and coughed weakly, "I think I feel a little--"
"I think," Hallis said, taking a few hasty steps backwards and putting her hand over her nose and mouth, "that you and that-- you and Dr. McKay had better go home, where you can rest properly."
Sheppard nodded. "You're probably right," he agreed. "But first we've got to fix the puddlejumper, and even then, we're not sure we'll be allowed to get to the gate. Your dad-- the chairman, I mean-- doesn't seem to think we should be allowed to use it."
Hallis took a long look at McKay's hairline, and her eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that," she muttered, and led her pack back out of the puddlejumper. "Don't worry, Colonel," she called over her shoulder as they left. "We'll take care of everything!"
And then they did.
("It was only a little revolution," Sheppard tried to explain to Weir. "Like, more of a revolt."
"Nff," said Elizabeth, her face buried in her hands. "Go away, Colonel," she said at length. "And shave your head while you're at it. Your hair is apparently causing political instability.")
*which would be a glorious name for a band, don't you think?
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Okay, now I read the second bit. Makes perfect sense. The Hair is indeed a rebel yell. Great stuff! And yes, the perfect band name!
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Actually, I'm kinda tempted to write backstories to all the footnotes in Thanks for flying now. And I'm blaming YOU for it. :p
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