Ficlet Request: And Now For Something Completely Different (G)
Welcome, newcomers! I think I should warn you that I'm not usually quite so prolific. :)
This one is for martyfan, who asked for Jack and Daniel and the following quote: "What's the use of a footsoldier that who can't do anything but hobble along and moan about brains?" This means that despite my best intentions, I have written zombie fic. I leave it to you to decide if this is a good thing or not. No spoilers, any season. Word count: ~730
And Now For Something Completely Different
"I think I'm missing something," Daniel muttered to Jack as he handed him a spare bandana.
"I wish I was missing the smell," Jack groused back. He knotted the bandana over his nose and mouth as a makeshift mask.
Daniel waved his hands in a gesture of frustration. "It just doesn't make any sense!"
"Oh, like the snakeheads need to be sensible!" Jack crouched down a little lower behind the boulder that offered them their only cover. "Why couldn't this Dumb La guy go with the good old-fashioned Egyptian shtick?"
"That's Damballa, Jack, and -" Daniel paused in mid-wave, looking thoughtful. "Actually, Haitian mythology fits the Goa'uld pattern a little too nicely. Damballa is associated with the snake. His wife, Ayida Weddo, is the 'rainbow serpent.' And the loa are supposed to, ah, possess a host when summoned, and the manifestation is traditionally pretty violent..."
Jack gave Daniel an incredulous look. "Tell me you're kidding."
Daniel gave a half-shrug in response. "Wish I was."
"Oh, for cryin'..." Jack risked a quick glance around their boulder, shuddered, and hastily ducked back. "They're still shuffling past," he said gloomily. "No sign of thinning out, either."
"How long do you think until they've left the area?"
"I haven't exactly calculated the average zombie MPH, Daniel. How should I know?"
"I'm not entirely sure they're really zombies, Jack," Daniel said, raising a cautionary finger. "Okay, yes, they seem a little dazed, and almost mindless..."
"Kinda gray in the face," Jack offered, his voice mockingly cheerful.
"That doesn't mean they're dead," Daniel snapped, a little irritated. "It could be illness, or body paint, or even the adapted skin color under this planet's purple sun!"
"Or an appetite for braaaaiiiins," Jack said.
Daniel glared at him. The bandana hid the annoying smirk, but Daniel could definitely tell it was there. "You do know that's a Hollywood corruption of an intricate folklore that traces back for centuries, don't you?"
"Tell that to the shambling masses, Daniel. And they stink."
"Hygiene might not be a privilege they have." Daniel huffed out an indignant breath and slumped back against the border. "It doesn't make any sense," he repeated, a little plaintively. "Jack, the 'zombies' of Haitian legend were slaves that were forced to work in the sugar cane fields. Now, that fits very nicely with the Goa'uld and their typical enslavement of the local populace. The idea that these... people are soldiers seems a little farfetched."
"Cannon fodder," Jack said dismissively.
"Brainwashed, unthinking slaves wouldn't even be good at that," Daniel argued. He took a turn at peering over the rock and froze, staring.
Jack, fiddling with the makeshift mask that helped filter out the stench of the shuffling locals, didn't notice. "Okay, I'll grant you that," he conceded. "What's the use of a footsoldier that who can't do anything but hobble along and moan about brains?"
Silence.
Jack glanced up. "Daniel?"
"I can think of one thing," Daniel said, his voice strangled.
Jack cautiously raised his head over the boulder and took a look of his own. "Ah," he drawled, his tone remarkably even. "Looks like Dumb La came up with a pretty good use for 'em, after all. Zombies as decoys. Sweet."
Daniel didn't bother to correct Jack's pronunciation this time. "How long until they spot us?"
Jack scanned the ranks of the well-armed, grim-faced soldiers who flanked the shuffling locals, heading purposely in their direction. "I'd give it, oh, maybe five minutes before they make our position."
Daniel swallowed, and gripped his pistol a little more tightly. "What do we do now?"
"Unless you want to introduce yourself, I'd say we should try and make it for the Gate."
Daniel took another quick look at the mumbling natives and the soldiers bearing down on them. "Sounds good to me," he agreed fervently.
Jack hoisted himself to his feet. "Took us forty minutes to get here," he said.
"We can make it back faster than that," Daniel protested even as he started walking. "It's not as if we don't have some incentive here."
"Oh, I imagine so." Jack considered. "Fifteen minutes?"
"Lazy." Daniel broke into a half-jog. "I'll bet you ten."
"Oh, yeah? What stakes?" Jack glanced back again, then waggled his eyebrows. "Oooh, we could bet that we don't -"
"Don't say not getting our brains eaten!"
"Spoilsport," Jack complained. "Okay, okay. More than ten minutes, and you buy the pizza tonight. Let's go!"
They went.
This one is for martyfan, who asked for Jack and Daniel and the following quote: "What's the use of a footsoldier that who can't do anything but hobble along and moan about brains?" This means that despite my best intentions, I have written zombie fic. I leave it to you to decide if this is a good thing or not. No spoilers, any season. Word count: ~730
And Now For Something Completely Different
"I think I'm missing something," Daniel muttered to Jack as he handed him a spare bandana.
"I wish I was missing the smell," Jack groused back. He knotted the bandana over his nose and mouth as a makeshift mask.
Daniel waved his hands in a gesture of frustration. "It just doesn't make any sense!"
"Oh, like the snakeheads need to be sensible!" Jack crouched down a little lower behind the boulder that offered them their only cover. "Why couldn't this Dumb La guy go with the good old-fashioned Egyptian shtick?"
"That's Damballa, Jack, and -" Daniel paused in mid-wave, looking thoughtful. "Actually, Haitian mythology fits the Goa'uld pattern a little too nicely. Damballa is associated with the snake. His wife, Ayida Weddo, is the 'rainbow serpent.' And the loa are supposed to, ah, possess a host when summoned, and the manifestation is traditionally pretty violent..."
Jack gave Daniel an incredulous look. "Tell me you're kidding."
Daniel gave a half-shrug in response. "Wish I was."
"Oh, for cryin'..." Jack risked a quick glance around their boulder, shuddered, and hastily ducked back. "They're still shuffling past," he said gloomily. "No sign of thinning out, either."
"How long do you think until they've left the area?"
"I haven't exactly calculated the average zombie MPH, Daniel. How should I know?"
"I'm not entirely sure they're really zombies, Jack," Daniel said, raising a cautionary finger. "Okay, yes, they seem a little dazed, and almost mindless..."
"Kinda gray in the face," Jack offered, his voice mockingly cheerful.
"That doesn't mean they're dead," Daniel snapped, a little irritated. "It could be illness, or body paint, or even the adapted skin color under this planet's purple sun!"
"Or an appetite for braaaaiiiins," Jack said.
Daniel glared at him. The bandana hid the annoying smirk, but Daniel could definitely tell it was there. "You do know that's a Hollywood corruption of an intricate folklore that traces back for centuries, don't you?"
"Tell that to the shambling masses, Daniel. And they stink."
"Hygiene might not be a privilege they have." Daniel huffed out an indignant breath and slumped back against the border. "It doesn't make any sense," he repeated, a little plaintively. "Jack, the 'zombies' of Haitian legend were slaves that were forced to work in the sugar cane fields. Now, that fits very nicely with the Goa'uld and their typical enslavement of the local populace. The idea that these... people are soldiers seems a little farfetched."
"Cannon fodder," Jack said dismissively.
"Brainwashed, unthinking slaves wouldn't even be good at that," Daniel argued. He took a turn at peering over the rock and froze, staring.
Jack, fiddling with the makeshift mask that helped filter out the stench of the shuffling locals, didn't notice. "Okay, I'll grant you that," he conceded. "What's the use of a footsoldier that who can't do anything but hobble along and moan about brains?"
Silence.
Jack glanced up. "Daniel?"
"I can think of one thing," Daniel said, his voice strangled.
Jack cautiously raised his head over the boulder and took a look of his own. "Ah," he drawled, his tone remarkably even. "Looks like Dumb La came up with a pretty good use for 'em, after all. Zombies as decoys. Sweet."
Daniel didn't bother to correct Jack's pronunciation this time. "How long until they spot us?"
Jack scanned the ranks of the well-armed, grim-faced soldiers who flanked the shuffling locals, heading purposely in their direction. "I'd give it, oh, maybe five minutes before they make our position."
Daniel swallowed, and gripped his pistol a little more tightly. "What do we do now?"
"Unless you want to introduce yourself, I'd say we should try and make it for the Gate."
Daniel took another quick look at the mumbling natives and the soldiers bearing down on them. "Sounds good to me," he agreed fervently.
Jack hoisted himself to his feet. "Took us forty minutes to get here," he said.
"We can make it back faster than that," Daniel protested even as he started walking. "It's not as if we don't have some incentive here."
"Oh, I imagine so." Jack considered. "Fifteen minutes?"
"Lazy." Daniel broke into a half-jog. "I'll bet you ten."
"Oh, yeah? What stakes?" Jack glanced back again, then waggled his eyebrows. "Oooh, we could bet that we don't -"
"Don't say not getting our brains eaten!"
"Spoilsport," Jack complained. "Okay, okay. More than ten minutes, and you buy the pizza tonight. Let's go!"
They went.