[Stargate: Fiction] "That Time the Natives Threw a Party and Got Them All Stoned" [SG-22, PG]
Title: Five Times SG-22 Didn’t Get Thrown into a Naquadah Mine #2 (Or, That Time the Natives Threw a Party and Got Them All Stoned)
Prompt: writerverse challenge #3, prompt #11 ‘five four times #2’
Word Count: 1,131
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings (if any): none
Warnings: recreational alien drug use
Summary: The members of SG-22 participate in an alien festival.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
That Time the Natives Threw a Party and Got Them All Stoned
Air Force First Lieutenant Walter Tobias kept both hands loosely on his P-90 as his team made their way toward the village on P8X-241.
It was a beautiful planet, a lot like his home state of Michigan in the spring, with wide grassy fields edged with rustling trees and a gentle breeze that carried the scent of wildflowers. Some kind of birds were singing, strange songs that Tobias didn’t recognize, and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sunshine.
“Hey, Toby, no falling asleep on me.”
He opened his eyes again to look sideways at Captain Igraine Gryffydd, leader of SG-22. Like him, she wore the standard uniform and tac vest, but she had her braided orange hair under one of the helmets most ‘gate teams had stopped wearing.
“Just basking in the sunshine,” he told her, smiling. “Remind me to thank SG-9 for this when we get back.”
“Yeah, sir,” chimed in Marine Gunnery Sergeant Jason Vicks. “We definitely got the best end of this deal.”
Sociologist Dr. Levi Flannigan frowned. “But they all got that nasty head cold that was going around, Gryff, and we get to take their place in the Hunari festival of- Oh.”
She grinned. “I knew you’d figure it out, Lee.”
“How much farther is the village?” he asked.
“Just a little farther,” said Vicks. “Sir, you’re sure there’s nothing about the Hunari we’re supposed to watch out for?”
Gryffydd snorted. “I knew you fell asleep during Dr. Leonard’s presentation,” she said, then added quickly, “No, nothing like that. SG-9 made three visits here, negotiating trade of some kind of medicinal herb. They’ll be back once they’re cleared for ‘gate travel again, but they’d already promised they- or rather now, we- would participate in the local arts festival.”
“And we’re just here for the festival,” added Tobias. “No ruins to catalogue, no scientists to babysit, no naquadah to mine…”
“Don’t even joke about that, sir,” Vicks muttered.
They rounded a group of trees and the village came into view. It looked like nothing so much as a Renaissance fair, minus the souvenir stands. A man in a vibrantly-embroidered tunic spotted them and hurried over.
“Hello!” he said, as soon as he was near enough. “Welcome, welcome. But, forgive me- you are not Major Thompson.”
“No, sir,” the Earthwoman agreed. “I’m Captain Gryffydd, leader of SG-22. These are my men, Lieutenant Tobias, Sergeant Vicks and Dr. Flannigan.”
“I am Counselor Duanan,” said the man. He hesitated, then added, “The men of SG-9…?”
“They’re fine, sir,” said Gryffydd. “Or, they will be. They’ve caught a mild disease, we call it a cold- runny nose, sore throat, that sort of thing.”
Duanan nodded. “We also have such an illness. It is bothersome, but not dangerous.”
“Ours as well,” said Tobias. “Major Thompson and his team will be back to resume negotiations when they’re well again, but they’ve asked us to take their place at the festival tonight.”
The counselor smiled. “Then you are most welcome, captain. Let me introduce you to the others before the feast begins…”
*
“Incoming wormhole,” said the sergeant on duty in the SGC Control Room. “Receiving a video signal.”
“Put it through,” ordered General Hammond, moving to the where he could see the monitor.
A few seconds later, Captain Gryffydd’s image appeared, off-center and tilted. For a moment, Hammond thought the MALP was on uneven ground, but then Gryffydd moved into clearer view, wobbling slightly.
“General!” she cried, smiling broadly.
He frowned. “Captain, report.”
Gryffydd wobbled again, and grabbed onto the MALP to steady herself. Up close, her eyes appeared unfocused and her free hand waved vaguely. “Sir,” she said, sounding as though she had to think hard about each word. “My team is… my team is stoned, sir.”
“Captain?” Hammond asked.
“Stoned, sir,” the redhead repeated. “The local festival, it’s about art, and creativity, and, um, art. There’s this tea- really, really good tea- and we all drink it and, um, it gets sort of fuzzy after that, sir. But then we do art!.”
“That wasn’t in the briefing,” he said, frowning again. “Is your team all right?”
“Oh, sure,” she replied. “Okay, Levi’s fallen down a couple of times, but he’s okay. The tea’s made from a plant, kinda like weed- which I only know through rumor and totally not because my college roommate snuck some past the nuns that one time.”
“Is that Gryff?” asked Jack, coming to stand beside the general.
Hammond worked hard to keep a smile off of his face.”SG-22 is attending the festival on P8X-241, colonel.”
“A fertility festival?” Jack asked, not bothering to hide his own smile.
On the screen, Gryffydd shook her head, making her wobble more. “No, no, no,” she said, waving a meandering finger at him. “No sex. Absolutely no sex on my team. We had a talk about that.”
“You had a talk?” Jack repeated, laughing.
“Yes, we did- What?” she called, to someone out of the camera range. “Okay! I gotta go, sir. Now that we’re all really stoned, we gotta go do art. That’s what this festival’s about, you know. Creativity and stuff. There’s all different kinds. Jason’s doing painting. Toby’s gonna try… um, kinda looks like Lincoln Logs, but they’re orange. And me’n Levi are gonna do pottery!”
Hammond let his smile surface. “Please be careful, captain. I’ll expect you to check in again in twelve hours. And if you feel even the slightest bit unwell, I want you to call for a medical team immediately.”
Gryffydd nodded enthusiastically, then grabbed the MALP again to keep from falling over. “Will do, sir. SG-22 out..”
*
The sun dawned bright the next morning, even through the fabric of the tents where everyone slept.
Tobias groaned at the sudden light and flung an arm over his eyes. Or, at least, he tried to. Something heavy was lying across his elbow- when he cracked his eyes open again, he saw that it was Gryffydd, still fast asleep and liberally splattered with reddish-brown clay. Levi lay on her other side, back-to-back and using Vicks’s shoulder for a pillow. They both looked just as worse for the wear, Levi smudged with the same clay as their CO, and Vicks much more colorfully dabbed with dried paint.
“Oh, my head,” Gryffydd muttered, sitting up and freeing Tobias’s arm. “Everybody still got their clothes on?”
“Yes,” said Vicks, a little sharply. He sat up, too, wincing. “Did we get stoned and then do arts and crafts?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tobias told him, then frowned. “Gryff, did you get stoned and call General Hammond?”
Her blue eyes widened. “Oh, my god.”
“You could always bring him one of those clay pots you made,” Levi suggested.
His teammates all frowned. “Don’t say ‘pot’,” they chorused.
THE END
Current Mood:
crappy
Prompt: writerverse challenge #3, prompt #11 ‘five four times #2’
Word Count: 1,131
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings (if any): none
Warnings: recreational alien drug use
Summary: The members of SG-22 participate in an alien festival.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
That Time the Natives Threw a Party and Got Them All Stoned
Air Force First Lieutenant Walter Tobias kept both hands loosely on his P-90 as his team made their way toward the village on P8X-241.
It was a beautiful planet, a lot like his home state of Michigan in the spring, with wide grassy fields edged with rustling trees and a gentle breeze that carried the scent of wildflowers. Some kind of birds were singing, strange songs that Tobias didn’t recognize, and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sunshine.
“Hey, Toby, no falling asleep on me.”
He opened his eyes again to look sideways at Captain Igraine Gryffydd, leader of SG-22. Like him, she wore the standard uniform and tac vest, but she had her braided orange hair under one of the helmets most ‘gate teams had stopped wearing.
“Just basking in the sunshine,” he told her, smiling. “Remind me to thank SG-9 for this when we get back.”
“Yeah, sir,” chimed in Marine Gunnery Sergeant Jason Vicks. “We definitely got the best end of this deal.”
Sociologist Dr. Levi Flannigan frowned. “But they all got that nasty head cold that was going around, Gryff, and we get to take their place in the Hunari festival of- Oh.”
She grinned. “I knew you’d figure it out, Lee.”
“How much farther is the village?” he asked.
“Just a little farther,” said Vicks. “Sir, you’re sure there’s nothing about the Hunari we’re supposed to watch out for?”
Gryffydd snorted. “I knew you fell asleep during Dr. Leonard’s presentation,” she said, then added quickly, “No, nothing like that. SG-9 made three visits here, negotiating trade of some kind of medicinal herb. They’ll be back once they’re cleared for ‘gate travel again, but they’d already promised they- or rather now, we- would participate in the local arts festival.”
“And we’re just here for the festival,” added Tobias. “No ruins to catalogue, no scientists to babysit, no naquadah to mine…”
“Don’t even joke about that, sir,” Vicks muttered.
They rounded a group of trees and the village came into view. It looked like nothing so much as a Renaissance fair, minus the souvenir stands. A man in a vibrantly-embroidered tunic spotted them and hurried over.
“Hello!” he said, as soon as he was near enough. “Welcome, welcome. But, forgive me- you are not Major Thompson.”
“No, sir,” the Earthwoman agreed. “I’m Captain Gryffydd, leader of SG-22. These are my men, Lieutenant Tobias, Sergeant Vicks and Dr. Flannigan.”
“I am Counselor Duanan,” said the man. He hesitated, then added, “The men of SG-9…?”
“They’re fine, sir,” said Gryffydd. “Or, they will be. They’ve caught a mild disease, we call it a cold- runny nose, sore throat, that sort of thing.”
Duanan nodded. “We also have such an illness. It is bothersome, but not dangerous.”
“Ours as well,” said Tobias. “Major Thompson and his team will be back to resume negotiations when they’re well again, but they’ve asked us to take their place at the festival tonight.”
The counselor smiled. “Then you are most welcome, captain. Let me introduce you to the others before the feast begins…”
*
“Incoming wormhole,” said the sergeant on duty in the SGC Control Room. “Receiving a video signal.”
“Put it through,” ordered General Hammond, moving to the where he could see the monitor.
A few seconds later, Captain Gryffydd’s image appeared, off-center and tilted. For a moment, Hammond thought the MALP was on uneven ground, but then Gryffydd moved into clearer view, wobbling slightly.
“General!” she cried, smiling broadly.
He frowned. “Captain, report.”
Gryffydd wobbled again, and grabbed onto the MALP to steady herself. Up close, her eyes appeared unfocused and her free hand waved vaguely. “Sir,” she said, sounding as though she had to think hard about each word. “My team is… my team is stoned, sir.”
“Captain?” Hammond asked.
“Stoned, sir,” the redhead repeated. “The local festival, it’s about art, and creativity, and, um, art. There’s this tea- really, really good tea- and we all drink it and, um, it gets sort of fuzzy after that, sir. But then we do art!.”
“That wasn’t in the briefing,” he said, frowning again. “Is your team all right?”
“Oh, sure,” she replied. “Okay, Levi’s fallen down a couple of times, but he’s okay. The tea’s made from a plant, kinda like weed- which I only know through rumor and totally not because my college roommate snuck some past the nuns that one time.”
“Is that Gryff?” asked Jack, coming to stand beside the general.
Hammond worked hard to keep a smile off of his face.”SG-22 is attending the festival on P8X-241, colonel.”
“A fertility festival?” Jack asked, not bothering to hide his own smile.
On the screen, Gryffydd shook her head, making her wobble more. “No, no, no,” she said, waving a meandering finger at him. “No sex. Absolutely no sex on my team. We had a talk about that.”
“You had a talk?” Jack repeated, laughing.
“Yes, we did- What?” she called, to someone out of the camera range. “Okay! I gotta go, sir. Now that we’re all really stoned, we gotta go do art. That’s what this festival’s about, you know. Creativity and stuff. There’s all different kinds. Jason’s doing painting. Toby’s gonna try… um, kinda looks like Lincoln Logs, but they’re orange. And me’n Levi are gonna do pottery!”
Hammond let his smile surface. “Please be careful, captain. I’ll expect you to check in again in twelve hours. And if you feel even the slightest bit unwell, I want you to call for a medical team immediately.”
Gryffydd nodded enthusiastically, then grabbed the MALP again to keep from falling over. “Will do, sir. SG-22 out..”
*
The sun dawned bright the next morning, even through the fabric of the tents where everyone slept.
Tobias groaned at the sudden light and flung an arm over his eyes. Or, at least, he tried to. Something heavy was lying across his elbow- when he cracked his eyes open again, he saw that it was Gryffydd, still fast asleep and liberally splattered with reddish-brown clay. Levi lay on her other side, back-to-back and using Vicks’s shoulder for a pillow. They both looked just as worse for the wear, Levi smudged with the same clay as their CO, and Vicks much more colorfully dabbed with dried paint.
“Oh, my head,” Gryffydd muttered, sitting up and freeing Tobias’s arm. “Everybody still got their clothes on?”
“Yes,” said Vicks, a little sharply. He sat up, too, wincing. “Did we get stoned and then do arts and crafts?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tobias told him, then frowned. “Gryff, did you get stoned and call General Hammond?”
Her blue eyes widened. “Oh, my god.”
“You could always bring him one of those clay pots you made,” Levi suggested.
His teammates all frowned. “Don’t say ‘pot’,” they chorused.
THE END
Current Mood:
crappy