SGA fic: Ritual, my ass.
Jan. 2nd, 2011 07:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sealieFandom: SGA
Rating: gen…ish
Characters: Team
Warnings: profanity, reference to things which I wouldn’t want to happen to anyone I know, taking the piss (i.e. a bit of mocking). Not for sensitive souls.
Ritual, my ass
By sealie
“I am returning to Atlantis. Thank you for your time. We’re leaving. Colonel!” Rodney stalked out of the carpet-draped marquee. He had said his piece; it was -- as normal -- refreshing and fulfilling to speak his mind and satisfying to make this point.
Call him a prude, but fuck it, he wasn’t stripping and subjecting himself to a ritual with the Staff of Ohdd to show that they meant no harm. He didn’t care if they had Naquada. He knew that they didn’t have a ZPM: no indicative energy readings. Elizabeth could eat her cultural sensitivity lectures about not offending the natives. They were the most boring lessons in the Universe and there was something inherently trivializing about her use of the term ‘native’, Rodney thought. And frankly even if they had had a ZPM – Fuck it. Fuck the lot of them.
He could hear Teyla making apologies. In a couple of more steps he would be out of earshot.
John sloped up beside him, cupped hands resting on the butt of the P90 attached to his vest.
“Hang up, McKay, we have to wait for Teyla and Ronon.”
“Don’t apologise for me!” Rodney bellowed as he came to a stop. “I’ve done nothing wrong. We’re leaving the same way we came in: DRESSED – unmolested. We’re not causing offence. We’re LEAVING!”
“You’re a prude, McKay,” Ronon ambled out of the tent.
“And?” Rodney snapped. “So what? Like the Hell you care.”
~*~
“Oh, Rodney.” Elizabeth shook her head.
“Don’t ‘Oh, Rodney’ me. Look at this, this is my open hand.” He thrust it across Elizabeth’s office table making her jump. “My open right hand indicates no weapons in my culture. That is a matter of honour. It is also culturally inappropriate for me to take off my trousers and underpants and go to work with my junk hanging out.”
“Thank God.” John coughed into his hand.
“You’re asking us to do something culturally stupid to foster relations and I don’t want to do it.”
“Rodney,” Teyla interjected.
“I have bent over backwards -- I have! Don’t you dare laugh.” He glared at his team members and boss. “I’ve stood on one foot for hours. Ate urine cured leather -- delicacy, my ass. Yodelled for a cup of tea. Apologised (under duress) for having the temerity to offer to shake someone’s hand. No one has ever asked us what our greeting customs are. Not in one hundred and twenty six planets.”
Elizabeth rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Rodney, I’m sure--”
“HA!” Rodney spat. “If you’re that upset go to PX-whatever, take off all your clothes in front of the Council of Wrinkly Elders, lie on the Recliner of Ohdd and open yourself for the wonder of the Ritual Stick of Potato Head. Off you go. I’ll man your desk until you get back.” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.
~*~
“So that was a short mission,” John said conversationally as they wandered down the corridor in the general direction of their rooms.
“Hmmm,” Rodney agreed, happy with his day’s work. Elizabeth might be a pissed but in the scheme of things he was not that bothered. Elizabeth’s focus on the big picture could be a little scary at times.
“My place or yours?” John asked.
“I’ve got ‘Serenity’ downloaded onto my laptop.”
“Yours then.”
“We have to stop at yours first, I deserve chocolate and,” Rodney added, oozing satisfaction, “beer.”
Sheppard glanced at him sideways with a look that could only be described as fond.
“What? What? Hmm?” Rodney asked.
“Thanks. Thanks for doing that,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome,” Rodney said Canadian-polite, eyeing John’s buttoned up collar, tense shoulders and hands thrust deep in his pockets. “I am a genius, you know.”
fin
Rating: gen…ish
Characters: Team
Warnings: profanity, reference to things which I wouldn’t want to happen to anyone I know, taking the piss (i.e. a bit of mocking). Not for sensitive souls.
Ritual, my ass
By sealie
“I am returning to Atlantis. Thank you for your time. We’re leaving. Colonel!” Rodney stalked out of the carpet-draped marquee. He had said his piece; it was -- as normal -- refreshing and fulfilling to speak his mind and satisfying to make this point.
Call him a prude, but fuck it, he wasn’t stripping and subjecting himself to a ritual with the Staff of Ohdd to show that they meant no harm. He didn’t care if they had Naquada. He knew that they didn’t have a ZPM: no indicative energy readings. Elizabeth could eat her cultural sensitivity lectures about not offending the natives. They were the most boring lessons in the Universe and there was something inherently trivializing about her use of the term ‘native’, Rodney thought. And frankly even if they had had a ZPM – Fuck it. Fuck the lot of them.
He could hear Teyla making apologies. In a couple of more steps he would be out of earshot.
John sloped up beside him, cupped hands resting on the butt of the P90 attached to his vest.
“Hang up, McKay, we have to wait for Teyla and Ronon.”
“Don’t apologise for me!” Rodney bellowed as he came to a stop. “I’ve done nothing wrong. We’re leaving the same way we came in: DRESSED – unmolested. We’re not causing offence. We’re LEAVING!”
“You’re a prude, McKay,” Ronon ambled out of the tent.
“And?” Rodney snapped. “So what? Like the Hell you care.”
~*~
“Oh, Rodney.” Elizabeth shook her head.
“Don’t ‘Oh, Rodney’ me. Look at this, this is my open hand.” He thrust it across Elizabeth’s office table making her jump. “My open right hand indicates no weapons in my culture. That is a matter of honour. It is also culturally inappropriate for me to take off my trousers and underpants and go to work with my junk hanging out.”
“Thank God.” John coughed into his hand.
“You’re asking us to do something culturally stupid to foster relations and I don’t want to do it.”
“Rodney,” Teyla interjected.
“I have bent over backwards -- I have! Don’t you dare laugh.” He glared at his team members and boss. “I’ve stood on one foot for hours. Ate urine cured leather -- delicacy, my ass. Yodelled for a cup of tea. Apologised (under duress) for having the temerity to offer to shake someone’s hand. No one has ever asked us what our greeting customs are. Not in one hundred and twenty six planets.”
Elizabeth rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Rodney, I’m sure--”
“HA!” Rodney spat. “If you’re that upset go to PX-whatever, take off all your clothes in front of the Council of Wrinkly Elders, lie on the Recliner of Ohdd and open yourself for the wonder of the Ritual Stick of Potato Head. Off you go. I’ll man your desk until you get back.” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.
~*~
“So that was a short mission,” John said conversationally as they wandered down the corridor in the general direction of their rooms.
“Hmmm,” Rodney agreed, happy with his day’s work. Elizabeth might be a pissed but in the scheme of things he was not that bothered. Elizabeth’s focus on the big picture could be a little scary at times.
“My place or yours?” John asked.
“I’ve got ‘Serenity’ downloaded onto my laptop.”
“Yours then.”
“We have to stop at yours first, I deserve chocolate and,” Rodney added, oozing satisfaction, “beer.”
Sheppard glanced at him sideways with a look that could only be described as fond.
“What? What? Hmm?” Rodney asked.
“Thanks. Thanks for doing that,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome,” Rodney said Canadian-polite, eyeing John’s buttoned up collar, tense shoulders and hands thrust deep in his pockets. “I am a genius, you know.”
fin
