New Crack!fic. SG-1; Gen
Title: There’s a B-List in my Closet
Author: Christi (christim@comcast.net)
Rating: G
Spoilers: Uh, if you don't have a fairly good knowledge of the entirety of the show, Seasons 1-9, this shall not make much sense.
Category: Crack!fic
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author’s Note: This is SO VERY WRONG. *thunks head* And yet, I wrote it. Oh well. Thanks to kate98 for the speedy beta and to jezyk for listening to me ramble about the evils of titles and helping me come up with random characters to mock.
--
Storage closets at the SGC were, in their own way, as important as the ‘Gate itself. For example, the large closet on level 19 was used for housing spare medical supplies, which was fitting, considering that Felger’s lab resided down the hall. The tiny alcove on level 20 housed all of Siler’s various wrenches-he had quite the collection, after all. There was a general supply closet on level 17 that had seen more than its share of illicit sexual liaisons, due to its convenient distance from any security camera.
And then, of course, there was the closet on level 15 that was actually a transdimensional vortex to a pocket reality.
It had started out as a simple bunkroom, back in Season One when the show had just been starting out and the discarded and overlooked secondary characters that needed housing had been kept to a minimum.
Obviously, that had not lasted long.
By the time he had arrived in late Season Three, the place had been a mess. Alien races, one-time guest stars, and dead extras tripping over each other did not exactly make for a peaceful living environment. Luckily, as he was a certain one-time guest star with no recourse of getting anymore screen time, Nyan had plenty of time on his hands.
Slowly, he had managed to carve out a system from amidst the chaos. And sure, it was a full time job keeping things organized and under control-he had even been forced to enlist Dr. Robert Rothman’s help a few years ago in order to keep up with the ever-increasing demands of the job. But let’s face it-what else did he have to do?
As he settled down behind his desk and eyed the large crowd already in he main lobby, Nyan prepared himself for the regular chaos of a Monday morning in storage closet 15C. Forms were neatly stacked, files double-checked, and stamps organized. Finally satisfied, he hit the shiny silver bell on top of his desk with flourish. “Number One?”
--
Pleased at seeing a friendly face, Nyan smiled. “Why, Agent Johnson. What can I do for you?”
The pretty brunette grimaced. “I need a new room.”
Suddenly, her presence seemed less than welcome. “Now Kerry, you know that room assignments are permanent unless your status changes on the show itself. As a character who has had some kind of transient romantic entanglement with one of the major four, you are automatically classified as a resident of the Red Light District.”
She glared at him, arms folded across her chest. “Yes, and don’t doubt that I’ll be back to discuss that lovely little classification another day. But my issue today is my roommate.”
That had sort of been obvious. “Agent Johnson….”
But Nyan didn’t get to finish his thought, as a look of desperation crossed Kerry’s face. “Nyan, please. I could have dealt with that Spandex wearing, wanna-be Barbie doll if all she did was occasionally send an evil glance my way. But I woke this morning and she was scanning me.”
Now that was certainly a new turn of events. “Whatever for?”
“Apparently, she was looking for a genetic component that could be a factor in obtaining the favor of Jack O’Neill.”
Wow. Everyone knew Anise was a bit weird, but this seemed to be pushing the envelope just a bit. “That is a bit….uncomfortable,” Nyan admitted.
“A bit? Nyan, you have to move me to another room-I am in serious danger of losing my perpetually sunny disposition and bouncy hairdo here!”
Gods forbid. After a moment of careful thought, Nyan tapped a pen against his mouth. “You know, we’ve had another complaint in that district lately…we could switch you with Ke’ra. Apparently, her whole former identity as “Linea: Destroyer of Worlds” is wearing a bit thin on her roommate, but I doubt Anise would mind much.”
Relief swamped Kerry’s features. “And who would my new roommate be?”
“Oh. Laira. She’s a little baby-obsessed, but not nearly as high maintenance as Freya.”
--
Scanning the forms in front of him, Nyan reached for the green stamp. “Well, Mr. Re’tu #3417, it looks like everything is in order. You will be joining the rest of your race in Room 78.”
Ripping off the top sheet of the housing form and attempting to hand off the carbon copy somewhere in the general vicinity of the invisible alien’s ‘hands’, Nyan continued. “There’s good news and bad news. The good news is that Room 78 is huge. The bad news is that the entirety of your race shares it with the giant aliens from “The Crystal Skull”. Generally, they’re low-key roommates, but I’m afraid that they do smoke.”
--
“Number Fifty-seven!”
Nyan was used to dealing with the irate, the strange, and even the tearful on a day to day basis, but he had certainly never expected Jacob Carter to be one of the red-eyed seated across his desk-the man was one of his earliest success stories.
“General Carter! What’s wrong?”
The older man sniffed in what, if he hadn’t been a General of the United States Air Force and a very old and wise Tok’ra, might have been a slightly hysterical manner. Grabbing a tissue from the box conveniently provided on the desk, he mumbled something completely unintelligible.
Confused, Nyan asked as respectfully as possible, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
Jacob leaned closer, looking around furtively. “I said that I’m dead.”
Nyan couldn’t help it-he gasped in shock. “Oh Jacob! I’m so sorry!”
New tears sprang to the General’s eyes and Nyan considerately offered him another tissue. “Thanks. I just…it was so sudden…I was doing a nice guest run and then BAM! No more Sammie, no more harassing Jack…and…and…Nyan, I….”
At this point, Jacob blew his nose. Loudly. All Nyan could do was wait patiently while the man collected himself. “Nyan…I don’t want to be moved to Six Feet Under Hall. Bra’tac and I have been roommates since you started this whole system. We work out really well. I could get stuck with someone awful, like the finally dead false god Apophis or something. Bra’tac and I have a weekly poker game with George and Maybourne! I can’t attend if they find out that I’m dead!”
Sympathy for his plight struck Nyan, and with a devious smile, he gestured for Jacob to lean closer. “You know, let’s just…not move you for now. Don’t tell anyone about your so-called demise and we’ll just see how things go. Besides, this is sci-fi. Don’t forget what happened to Lantash, you know.”
--
Eyeing the hole that went clear through the soldier’s chest in front of him, Nyan cleared his throat and put aside his queasiness. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve been given bad directions.”
The man protested at this. “But after my mass death scene, I was told to come to….”
“Yes. I’m afraid you got the old instructions. All Dead Extras have recently been moved to their own Storage Room on Level 13. There were just too many-we couldn’t handle the bulk.”
--
Sighing at the hopeful-eyed young man in front of him, Nyan smiled ruefully. “You’ll never give up, will you?”
Jonas and his much dwelled-upon puppy dog eyes looked affronted at the very idea. “Of course not. No news on my reinstatement, then?”
“I’m afraid not,” Nyan confirmed, not having the heart to tell him that it was never going to happen. Instead, he merely asked, “Is it really so bad here?”
“Oh…not really, I guess…it’s just…well, the weather is always the same in here, thanks to that guy with the Touchstone thing. And I just…miss them, you know?”
He looked so forlorn that Nyan wanted to hug him. “I’m sure they miss you too. If it’s any consolation, the fic writers have sent you another bushel of bananas.”
Instead of looking cheered by that, Jonas sighed. “I know that they mean well…but I really think I’m starting to have potassium issues.”
--
Dumbfounded by the duo in front of him, Nyan couldn’t help but look back and forth between them in bewilderment. “Uh…what can I do for the two of you?”
Looking as slutty as ever, Hathor sniffed with disdain. “We thought it best to inform you that the woefully insufficient hall you have designated for the housing of Gods has been contaminated by this man and his fellow loud-mouthed, heretical brethren.”
“Heretics! We are not the heretics! You are the heretics for denouncing the power of the true Gods, the Ori!” Garek proclaimed, flapping his robes in what he supposed was meant to be an intimidating manner.
“Errr…this really isn’t an issue for this department,” Nyan explained as delicately as possible. In fact, he wasn’t sure if there was a department to handle the overwhelming egos of pseudo-villains.
“We find that unacceptable! You must inform this man that We are the True God!”
“Well, I just don’t think that…what I mean to say is….” Nyan fumbled. If he had wanted to deal with religious zealots, he would have stayed on his home planet. “You know, I’m not exactly qualified to make judgments on this sort of thing. Why don’t you two head back to Worst of the Worst Row and try to work it out amongst yourselves? Better yet, ask that guy Kinsey-he seemed to think he was qualified to judge the ways of God and Man.”
After a moment of silence, Hathor relented. “We find this to be an agreeable solution. Certainly this Kinsey shall be able to see the nature of true divinity.”
“I am certain that he shall,” Garek said just as pompously.
Nyan heaved a sigh of relief as they turned to make their way out of the room-only to be deeply disturbed by the last comment he heard Hathor make. “Garek, my pet…We could not help but notice what a big…staff…you have….”
--
Another day was over and Nyan was thoroughly exhausted. Somehow, Mondays were always the worst-though really, no day in Storage Closet 15C was a quiet one. “We really need to hire some more help,” he commented to Dr. Rothman, who looked as exhausted as Nyan felt.
Just then, the door opened one more time, revealing Michael and Jenny in full hippy garb. “I’m sorry, you two, we’ve just closed down for the day.”
“Oh, no, man. We weren’t coming to cause any trouble,” the slightly spaced-out man clarified. “We just thought we’d stop by to say how much we totally admire what you do.”
Jenny nodded and offered Nyan a somewhat wilted daisy. Feeling awkward, he took it. “Oh, thanks, but it’s not really that big of a deal.”
“Don’t kid yourself, man!” Michael insisted.
“You make peace where there is war,” Jenny explained in her soft-spoken tones. “It’s totally groovy.”
Eyeing the two with new-found inspiration, Nyan grinned. “Well, if you’re interested, we have a job opening….”
And so ends my very first crack!fic.
Why do these things come into my brain? Why, oh why, oh why....
Author: Christi (christim@comcast.net)
Rating: G
Spoilers: Uh, if you don't have a fairly good knowledge of the entirety of the show, Seasons 1-9, this shall not make much sense.
Category: Crack!fic
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author’s Note: This is SO VERY WRONG. *thunks head* And yet, I wrote it. Oh well. Thanks to kate98 for the speedy beta and to jezyk for listening to me ramble about the evils of titles and helping me come up with random characters to mock.
--
Storage closets at the SGC were, in their own way, as important as the ‘Gate itself. For example, the large closet on level 19 was used for housing spare medical supplies, which was fitting, considering that Felger’s lab resided down the hall. The tiny alcove on level 20 housed all of Siler’s various wrenches-he had quite the collection, after all. There was a general supply closet on level 17 that had seen more than its share of illicit sexual liaisons, due to its convenient distance from any security camera.
And then, of course, there was the closet on level 15 that was actually a transdimensional vortex to a pocket reality.
It had started out as a simple bunkroom, back in Season One when the show had just been starting out and the discarded and overlooked secondary characters that needed housing had been kept to a minimum.
Obviously, that had not lasted long.
By the time he had arrived in late Season Three, the place had been a mess. Alien races, one-time guest stars, and dead extras tripping over each other did not exactly make for a peaceful living environment. Luckily, as he was a certain one-time guest star with no recourse of getting anymore screen time, Nyan had plenty of time on his hands.
Slowly, he had managed to carve out a system from amidst the chaos. And sure, it was a full time job keeping things organized and under control-he had even been forced to enlist Dr. Robert Rothman’s help a few years ago in order to keep up with the ever-increasing demands of the job. But let’s face it-what else did he have to do?
As he settled down behind his desk and eyed the large crowd already in he main lobby, Nyan prepared himself for the regular chaos of a Monday morning in storage closet 15C. Forms were neatly stacked, files double-checked, and stamps organized. Finally satisfied, he hit the shiny silver bell on top of his desk with flourish. “Number One?”
--
Pleased at seeing a friendly face, Nyan smiled. “Why, Agent Johnson. What can I do for you?”
The pretty brunette grimaced. “I need a new room.”
Suddenly, her presence seemed less than welcome. “Now Kerry, you know that room assignments are permanent unless your status changes on the show itself. As a character who has had some kind of transient romantic entanglement with one of the major four, you are automatically classified as a resident of the Red Light District.”
She glared at him, arms folded across her chest. “Yes, and don’t doubt that I’ll be back to discuss that lovely little classification another day. But my issue today is my roommate.”
That had sort of been obvious. “Agent Johnson….”
But Nyan didn’t get to finish his thought, as a look of desperation crossed Kerry’s face. “Nyan, please. I could have dealt with that Spandex wearing, wanna-be Barbie doll if all she did was occasionally send an evil glance my way. But I woke this morning and she was scanning me.”
Now that was certainly a new turn of events. “Whatever for?”
“Apparently, she was looking for a genetic component that could be a factor in obtaining the favor of Jack O’Neill.”
Wow. Everyone knew Anise was a bit weird, but this seemed to be pushing the envelope just a bit. “That is a bit….uncomfortable,” Nyan admitted.
“A bit? Nyan, you have to move me to another room-I am in serious danger of losing my perpetually sunny disposition and bouncy hairdo here!”
Gods forbid. After a moment of careful thought, Nyan tapped a pen against his mouth. “You know, we’ve had another complaint in that district lately…we could switch you with Ke’ra. Apparently, her whole former identity as “Linea: Destroyer of Worlds” is wearing a bit thin on her roommate, but I doubt Anise would mind much.”
Relief swamped Kerry’s features. “And who would my new roommate be?”
“Oh. Laira. She’s a little baby-obsessed, but not nearly as high maintenance as Freya.”
--
Scanning the forms in front of him, Nyan reached for the green stamp. “Well, Mr. Re’tu #3417, it looks like everything is in order. You will be joining the rest of your race in Room 78.”
Ripping off the top sheet of the housing form and attempting to hand off the carbon copy somewhere in the general vicinity of the invisible alien’s ‘hands’, Nyan continued. “There’s good news and bad news. The good news is that Room 78 is huge. The bad news is that the entirety of your race shares it with the giant aliens from “The Crystal Skull”. Generally, they’re low-key roommates, but I’m afraid that they do smoke.”
--
“Number Fifty-seven!”
Nyan was used to dealing with the irate, the strange, and even the tearful on a day to day basis, but he had certainly never expected Jacob Carter to be one of the red-eyed seated across his desk-the man was one of his earliest success stories.
“General Carter! What’s wrong?”
The older man sniffed in what, if he hadn’t been a General of the United States Air Force and a very old and wise Tok’ra, might have been a slightly hysterical manner. Grabbing a tissue from the box conveniently provided on the desk, he mumbled something completely unintelligible.
Confused, Nyan asked as respectfully as possible, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
Jacob leaned closer, looking around furtively. “I said that I’m dead.”
Nyan couldn’t help it-he gasped in shock. “Oh Jacob! I’m so sorry!”
New tears sprang to the General’s eyes and Nyan considerately offered him another tissue. “Thanks. I just…it was so sudden…I was doing a nice guest run and then BAM! No more Sammie, no more harassing Jack…and…and…Nyan, I….”
At this point, Jacob blew his nose. Loudly. All Nyan could do was wait patiently while the man collected himself. “Nyan…I don’t want to be moved to Six Feet Under Hall. Bra’tac and I have been roommates since you started this whole system. We work out really well. I could get stuck with someone awful, like the finally dead false god Apophis or something. Bra’tac and I have a weekly poker game with George and Maybourne! I can’t attend if they find out that I’m dead!”
Sympathy for his plight struck Nyan, and with a devious smile, he gestured for Jacob to lean closer. “You know, let’s just…not move you for now. Don’t tell anyone about your so-called demise and we’ll just see how things go. Besides, this is sci-fi. Don’t forget what happened to Lantash, you know.”
--
Eyeing the hole that went clear through the soldier’s chest in front of him, Nyan cleared his throat and put aside his queasiness. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve been given bad directions.”
The man protested at this. “But after my mass death scene, I was told to come to….”
“Yes. I’m afraid you got the old instructions. All Dead Extras have recently been moved to their own Storage Room on Level 13. There were just too many-we couldn’t handle the bulk.”
--
Sighing at the hopeful-eyed young man in front of him, Nyan smiled ruefully. “You’ll never give up, will you?”
Jonas and his much dwelled-upon puppy dog eyes looked affronted at the very idea. “Of course not. No news on my reinstatement, then?”
“I’m afraid not,” Nyan confirmed, not having the heart to tell him that it was never going to happen. Instead, he merely asked, “Is it really so bad here?”
“Oh…not really, I guess…it’s just…well, the weather is always the same in here, thanks to that guy with the Touchstone thing. And I just…miss them, you know?”
He looked so forlorn that Nyan wanted to hug him. “I’m sure they miss you too. If it’s any consolation, the fic writers have sent you another bushel of bananas.”
Instead of looking cheered by that, Jonas sighed. “I know that they mean well…but I really think I’m starting to have potassium issues.”
--
Dumbfounded by the duo in front of him, Nyan couldn’t help but look back and forth between them in bewilderment. “Uh…what can I do for the two of you?”
Looking as slutty as ever, Hathor sniffed with disdain. “We thought it best to inform you that the woefully insufficient hall you have designated for the housing of Gods has been contaminated by this man and his fellow loud-mouthed, heretical brethren.”
“Heretics! We are not the heretics! You are the heretics for denouncing the power of the true Gods, the Ori!” Garek proclaimed, flapping his robes in what he supposed was meant to be an intimidating manner.
“Errr…this really isn’t an issue for this department,” Nyan explained as delicately as possible. In fact, he wasn’t sure if there was a department to handle the overwhelming egos of pseudo-villains.
“We find that unacceptable! You must inform this man that We are the True God!”
“Well, I just don’t think that…what I mean to say is….” Nyan fumbled. If he had wanted to deal with religious zealots, he would have stayed on his home planet. “You know, I’m not exactly qualified to make judgments on this sort of thing. Why don’t you two head back to Worst of the Worst Row and try to work it out amongst yourselves? Better yet, ask that guy Kinsey-he seemed to think he was qualified to judge the ways of God and Man.”
After a moment of silence, Hathor relented. “We find this to be an agreeable solution. Certainly this Kinsey shall be able to see the nature of true divinity.”
“I am certain that he shall,” Garek said just as pompously.
Nyan heaved a sigh of relief as they turned to make their way out of the room-only to be deeply disturbed by the last comment he heard Hathor make. “Garek, my pet…We could not help but notice what a big…staff…you have….”
--
Another day was over and Nyan was thoroughly exhausted. Somehow, Mondays were always the worst-though really, no day in Storage Closet 15C was a quiet one. “We really need to hire some more help,” he commented to Dr. Rothman, who looked as exhausted as Nyan felt.
Just then, the door opened one more time, revealing Michael and Jenny in full hippy garb. “I’m sorry, you two, we’ve just closed down for the day.”
“Oh, no, man. We weren’t coming to cause any trouble,” the slightly spaced-out man clarified. “We just thought we’d stop by to say how much we totally admire what you do.”
Jenny nodded and offered Nyan a somewhat wilted daisy. Feeling awkward, he took it. “Oh, thanks, but it’s not really that big of a deal.”
“Don’t kid yourself, man!” Michael insisted.
“You make peace where there is war,” Jenny explained in her soft-spoken tones. “It’s totally groovy.”
Eyeing the two with new-found inspiration, Nyan grinned. “Well, if you’re interested, we have a job opening….”
And so ends my very first crack!fic.
Why do these things come into my brain? Why, oh why, oh why....