Amnesty post: Week 11 - Limn
Nov. 6th, 2011 09:12 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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sga_saturdayFirst-ever fic, but it's been bouncing around my head since the last amnesty.
Team Shadow Puppet Theater Night in Plato’s Cave
This week, the quantum mirror is showing a John and a Rodney down one of the infinite other legs of the trousers of time (with apologies to George Orwell: see fascism, jackbooted octopus of) on a New England beach. Teyla is making her excuses (Ronon walked out as soon as he realized it wasn’t the one where he writes poetry about his penis).
Sheppard, who was raised to be a gentleman, feels as if he should at least make a serious effort to make her feel like a valued guest. It avails him, as they say, naught.
“I am sorry, John,” she said, calmly. “I was hoping that this week we would see the reality in which I am a highly-regarded business woman, in hopes that I might learn something I can use to help my people.”
“Oh,” Rodney pulls a small bit of his attention away from watching other-himself watching other-John watching other-him right back. “I like that one. John gives me coffee and pastries in that one.”
“...but” she sailed on, as though no-one had spoken, “I do not feel that I can justify the evening away from my family to revisit this particular reality. I have, after all, seen you both eat sandwiches and nap.”
At that point, John may have elbowed Rodney in a sensitive spot (because really? Not. Helping.), and Rodney leapt, none-too-subtly rubbing his sensitive spot and looking equal parts awkward and only-very-slightly wounded, into the fray.
“But” and he’s clearly trying Very Hard Indeed to be smooth about this, “I’m sure your people will benefit from your exposure to other cultures.”
Teyla’s face falls into that configuration of perfect serenity with one delicately arched eyebrow which perfectly expresses what less talented faces require violent eyerolls and the international hand gesture for jerking off to achieve.
“My people,” she says gently to Rodney, heading out the door, “will call your people.”
John’s glaring at Rodney, who doesn’t even notice.
“Don’t we fuck kind of a lot in this one?” Rodney says, abstractedly, watching alter-him settle in on the couch with the cat.
Which, you know, John can just as easily be pissed off tomorrow.
Team Shadow Puppet Theater Night in Plato’s Cave
This week, the quantum mirror is showing a John and a Rodney down one of the infinite other legs of the trousers of time (with apologies to George Orwell: see fascism, jackbooted octopus of) on a New England beach. Teyla is making her excuses (Ronon walked out as soon as he realized it wasn’t the one where he writes poetry about his penis).
Sheppard, who was raised to be a gentleman, feels as if he should at least make a serious effort to make her feel like a valued guest. It avails him, as they say, naught.
“I am sorry, John,” she said, calmly. “I was hoping that this week we would see the reality in which I am a highly-regarded business woman, in hopes that I might learn something I can use to help my people.”
“Oh,” Rodney pulls a small bit of his attention away from watching other-himself watching other-John watching other-him right back. “I like that one. John gives me coffee and pastries in that one.”
“...but” she sailed on, as though no-one had spoken, “I do not feel that I can justify the evening away from my family to revisit this particular reality. I have, after all, seen you both eat sandwiches and nap.”
At that point, John may have elbowed Rodney in a sensitive spot (because really? Not. Helping.), and Rodney leapt, none-too-subtly rubbing his sensitive spot and looking equal parts awkward and only-very-slightly wounded, into the fray.
“But” and he’s clearly trying Very Hard Indeed to be smooth about this, “I’m sure your people will benefit from your exposure to other cultures.”
Teyla’s face falls into that configuration of perfect serenity with one delicately arched eyebrow which perfectly expresses what less talented faces require violent eyerolls and the international hand gesture for jerking off to achieve.
“My people,” she says gently to Rodney, heading out the door, “will call your people.”
John’s glaring at Rodney, who doesn’t even notice.
“Don’t we fuck kind of a lot in this one?” Rodney says, abstractedly, watching alter-him settle in on the couch with the cat.
Which, you know, John can just as easily be pissed off tomorrow.
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Date: 2011-11-07 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 03:16 pm (UTC)