(no subject)
Sep. 3rd, 2005 09:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
celtiknot.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficHi! This is my first post here. This has the coolest, crackiest challenge yet!
Selections from A Scientific Passion, $4.95, ISBN 070-566-5710
Word count: 1860
It was a good thing Mr. John Sheppard decided to circle the house before knocking - if he'd been waiting at the front door, the device- a microscope, perhaps? currently resting in shards on the flagstones would have brained him.
A flood of profanity followed it, but no head emerged out of the upper-story window. Deciding against the direct approach, John went around to the servant's entrance.
The kitchen staff had the edgy, haunted eyes of soldiers too long on campaign. His announcement that he was here to see Dr. McKay was met with weary surprise, although fortunately not suspicion. As the butler (nineteen if he was a day; how could there be no one older in authority?) led him upstairs, the cursing and its chorus of crashes grew louder.
Instead of escorting John to Dr. Mckay's presence, the butler's nerve broke at the top of the stairs. Flapping a wan hand at the closed door currently providing the only protection from the maelstrom of swearing, he fled back to the safety of below stairs.
As he hesitated at the top of the stairs, silence fell abruptly. Striding to the door, John took a deep breath. As he slowly pushed open the door, it revealed a man sitting awkwardly on the floor, surrounded by papers and scientific equipment. One leg bent under him, hands braced in front, he looked as if sudden exhaustion had rendered him inert. John walked over to him, bent over, and grabbed his shoulder.
"Gaauuck!" the man shrieked. He leapt up, spun around, windmilled his arms, and finally finished up facing John. Who stared, aghast, at the white bandages covering Dr. McKay's eyes.
...
"It's about time you got here. Someone's got to take down the notes of the most advanced discoveries made since the ancient Egyptians, and it's not going to be me today, hmm? Tell me you brought the new scales I ordered."
"They're...coming later."
...
"So, after the accident, most of the staff just couldn't handle the added responsibilities. Kavanaugh's useless as an assistant, but he has kept the household running, so I haven't kicked him out into the street as his wretched math deserves. He deals with the servants, the doctor, the accounts, my correspondence. Well, you know, you read his letter." John really hoped that if the genuine assistant showed up, John saw him first.
...
They spent hours in Rodney's "study", the huge room he'd cleared of all furniture except tables and cabinets covered with books, papers, and equipment. They subsisted on tea and the dinner trays the skittish staff were now willing to bring up - since John now answered the door, always. It worked better that way. In between gulping down tea, arguing, and taking McKay's frenetic dictation - he could hardly scribble down one theory before McKay had rethought it and proclaimed the correction - John wondered if this was what university would have been like, if he'd been able to afford it, if he'd had the right father and spoke the right way. Then he compared McKay to the reedy, foppish university men he'd known, and grinned unseen.
...
"Brain swelling. Ironic, isn't it? I would have admitted to a swelled head before - with due justification, I might add - but now that I have one in fact...I just tripped at the top of the stairs. Just that. I was unconscious for half an hour, then woke up..." he waved his hand around his head. "That Scottish scoundrel can't even come up with an explanation as to why the swelling hasn't gone down yet. He's trying to hurry my recovery along with his ointments, but honestly, those unguents of his couldn't chase fleas off a dead dog. He won't use the word "permanent", the coward, but if it hasn't cured itself by now..." He shrugged stiffly.
...
Rodney worked like a man possessed, then, when exhaustion struck, collapsed like an unstrung puppet. John bullied him mercilessly to keep a more regular schedule; with no idea of day or night, Rodney's sleep patterns were hopeless. When Rodney sank to the floor and dozed sitting up, John gazed blearily around at empty teacups and filled notepads, and dropped to the floor beside him. They leaned into each other for support. We look like two drunken sailors, John thought. John's cheek itched, and he turned his face into Rodney's shoulder to scratch it. He rubbed his cheek back and forth a few times, then stopped, caught by the sight of Rodney's neck and collarbone beneath his shirt collar. He felt like he was seeing Rodney for the first time, finally able to ignore the distraction of the jarring bandages. He was close enough to see the specks of Rodney's stubble, and the pinch of exhaustion to his lips. He was suddenly aware that Rodney had gone absolutely still beside him, until Rodney turned his face to John's.
...
"Well, if the most basic of equations are beyond you, then at least make yourself useful and fetch my medicine from downstairs. Beckett leaves it on the table in the hallway."
"Didn't Kavanaugh bring it up earlier?"
"He hasn't been up here since you started. If you never learn to draw logical assumptions, that alone is worth your salary."
But John was certain he'd seen Kavanaugh coming out of his bedroom with one of Beckett's glass physic bottles in his hands.
...
Once John realized he was looking for the "that young doctor", Beckett was easy to find (apparently, "the old doctor" used the privilege of rank to foist McKay onto the newcomer). John found the man charming and patient, not at all the scoundrel of Rodney's description ( no surprise there). "Aye, it is perplexing, how the blindness has hung on. There's nothing to do about the brain swelling causing it, except wait for it to go down. Well, the extreme approach is to drill a small hole through to skull to the brain to let out fluid....," he laughed at John's horrified expression. "No, no, I'm certainly not going to do that. No more than I'm going to bleed an ox in a fairy circle on a full moon. McKay wouldn't allow it, anyway - too afraid I might let the genius out."
"If the cause is in the brain, what is the eye ointment for?"
"There was swelling in both eyes as well - he cracked the orbital bone, plus gave himself quite a concussion. Also, I wanted to prevent any infection, since he got some blood and dust in his eyes. There's not much to it - boric acid, some mineral salts. Goldenseal, an herb I've had good results with. It's a very mild solution, but there's naught else I can do."
"Is there any camphor in it? Or menthol - mint?"
"No, of course not - not to apply to the eyes. Either of those would act like an irritant."
John fished the purloined bottle out of his pocket. "Maybe he's not using enough of it?" Beckett opened the bottle, then wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell.
"You must have gotten the wrong bottle - that's certainly not mine."
...
"Because, honestly, if you can't focus your mind any better than that, I might as well bring up one of the skivvies to-"
"I said, I'll rewrite it!"
"And heaven only knows how you can call yourself a scientist without being struck down for lying by the wrathful lightning of a God who didn't design a perfect Euclidean geometry only for you to-"
"I don't call myself a scientist! And I wasn't sent here to be your assistant. I was sent by your publishers to check on you. They thought ... maybe you were going mad."
"You're not - right. Focus. Didn't they get my letters?"
"Rodney, they couldn't understand your letters -"
"Well, obviously, they're very advanced con-"
"They weren't anything! There were just sheets and sheets of ravings, with your name scrawled at the bottom. Profanity and insults and scratchings - some were just sheets of newspaper, cut to letter size -"
"They were my theories! And my plans for experiments, and lists of the equipment I would need, I....," he abruptly ran out of steam, "I dictated them all to Kavanaugh."
...
John expected tirades and anger toward the treacherous Kavanaugh, recently hauled off by the local constabulary, but Rodney was more smug and maliciously gleeful: all his professional suspicions, and more, finally born out.
...
John ambled back to where Rodney sat, hunched in his folding chair, staring grumpily at lake Windermere. He trailed his fingers gently through Rodney's hair and looked out at the lake. He counted to himself.....
"Fine, is that enough? I am replete with natural beauty. I am awash with the grandeur of, of, of all this. Meanwhile, those corrections you suggested yesterday could not possibly be more wrong, and I have journals to read and critique. Heaven only knows the idiocy that was published while I was blind, and as for the experiments you think we should put off until we get home...."
Selections from A Scientific Passion, $4.95, ISBN 070-566-5710
Word count: 1860
It was a good thing Mr. John Sheppard decided to circle the house before knocking - if he'd been waiting at the front door, the device- a microscope, perhaps? currently resting in shards on the flagstones would have brained him.
A flood of profanity followed it, but no head emerged out of the upper-story window. Deciding against the direct approach, John went around to the servant's entrance.
The kitchen staff had the edgy, haunted eyes of soldiers too long on campaign. His announcement that he was here to see Dr. McKay was met with weary surprise, although fortunately not suspicion. As the butler (nineteen if he was a day; how could there be no one older in authority?) led him upstairs, the cursing and its chorus of crashes grew louder.
Instead of escorting John to Dr. Mckay's presence, the butler's nerve broke at the top of the stairs. Flapping a wan hand at the closed door currently providing the only protection from the maelstrom of swearing, he fled back to the safety of below stairs.
As he hesitated at the top of the stairs, silence fell abruptly. Striding to the door, John took a deep breath. As he slowly pushed open the door, it revealed a man sitting awkwardly on the floor, surrounded by papers and scientific equipment. One leg bent under him, hands braced in front, he looked as if sudden exhaustion had rendered him inert. John walked over to him, bent over, and grabbed his shoulder.
"Gaauuck!" the man shrieked. He leapt up, spun around, windmilled his arms, and finally finished up facing John. Who stared, aghast, at the white bandages covering Dr. McKay's eyes.
...
"It's about time you got here. Someone's got to take down the notes of the most advanced discoveries made since the ancient Egyptians, and it's not going to be me today, hmm? Tell me you brought the new scales I ordered."
"They're...coming later."
...
"So, after the accident, most of the staff just couldn't handle the added responsibilities. Kavanaugh's useless as an assistant, but he has kept the household running, so I haven't kicked him out into the street as his wretched math deserves. He deals with the servants, the doctor, the accounts, my correspondence. Well, you know, you read his letter." John really hoped that if the genuine assistant showed up, John saw him first.
...
They spent hours in Rodney's "study", the huge room he'd cleared of all furniture except tables and cabinets covered with books, papers, and equipment. They subsisted on tea and the dinner trays the skittish staff were now willing to bring up - since John now answered the door, always. It worked better that way. In between gulping down tea, arguing, and taking McKay's frenetic dictation - he could hardly scribble down one theory before McKay had rethought it and proclaimed the correction - John wondered if this was what university would have been like, if he'd been able to afford it, if he'd had the right father and spoke the right way. Then he compared McKay to the reedy, foppish university men he'd known, and grinned unseen.
...
"Brain swelling. Ironic, isn't it? I would have admitted to a swelled head before - with due justification, I might add - but now that I have one in fact...I just tripped at the top of the stairs. Just that. I was unconscious for half an hour, then woke up..." he waved his hand around his head. "That Scottish scoundrel can't even come up with an explanation as to why the swelling hasn't gone down yet. He's trying to hurry my recovery along with his ointments, but honestly, those unguents of his couldn't chase fleas off a dead dog. He won't use the word "permanent", the coward, but if it hasn't cured itself by now..." He shrugged stiffly.
...
Rodney worked like a man possessed, then, when exhaustion struck, collapsed like an unstrung puppet. John bullied him mercilessly to keep a more regular schedule; with no idea of day or night, Rodney's sleep patterns were hopeless. When Rodney sank to the floor and dozed sitting up, John gazed blearily around at empty teacups and filled notepads, and dropped to the floor beside him. They leaned into each other for support. We look like two drunken sailors, John thought. John's cheek itched, and he turned his face into Rodney's shoulder to scratch it. He rubbed his cheek back and forth a few times, then stopped, caught by the sight of Rodney's neck and collarbone beneath his shirt collar. He felt like he was seeing Rodney for the first time, finally able to ignore the distraction of the jarring bandages. He was close enough to see the specks of Rodney's stubble, and the pinch of exhaustion to his lips. He was suddenly aware that Rodney had gone absolutely still beside him, until Rodney turned his face to John's.
...
"Well, if the most basic of equations are beyond you, then at least make yourself useful and fetch my medicine from downstairs. Beckett leaves it on the table in the hallway."
"Didn't Kavanaugh bring it up earlier?"
"He hasn't been up here since you started. If you never learn to draw logical assumptions, that alone is worth your salary."
But John was certain he'd seen Kavanaugh coming out of his bedroom with one of Beckett's glass physic bottles in his hands.
...
Once John realized he was looking for the "that young doctor", Beckett was easy to find (apparently, "the old doctor" used the privilege of rank to foist McKay onto the newcomer). John found the man charming and patient, not at all the scoundrel of Rodney's description ( no surprise there). "Aye, it is perplexing, how the blindness has hung on. There's nothing to do about the brain swelling causing it, except wait for it to go down. Well, the extreme approach is to drill a small hole through to skull to the brain to let out fluid....," he laughed at John's horrified expression. "No, no, I'm certainly not going to do that. No more than I'm going to bleed an ox in a fairy circle on a full moon. McKay wouldn't allow it, anyway - too afraid I might let the genius out."
"If the cause is in the brain, what is the eye ointment for?"
"There was swelling in both eyes as well - he cracked the orbital bone, plus gave himself quite a concussion. Also, I wanted to prevent any infection, since he got some blood and dust in his eyes. There's not much to it - boric acid, some mineral salts. Goldenseal, an herb I've had good results with. It's a very mild solution, but there's naught else I can do."
"Is there any camphor in it? Or menthol - mint?"
"No, of course not - not to apply to the eyes. Either of those would act like an irritant."
John fished the purloined bottle out of his pocket. "Maybe he's not using enough of it?" Beckett opened the bottle, then wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell.
"You must have gotten the wrong bottle - that's certainly not mine."
...
"Because, honestly, if you can't focus your mind any better than that, I might as well bring up one of the skivvies to-"
"I said, I'll rewrite it!"
"And heaven only knows how you can call yourself a scientist without being struck down for lying by the wrathful lightning of a God who didn't design a perfect Euclidean geometry only for you to-"
"I don't call myself a scientist! And I wasn't sent here to be your assistant. I was sent by your publishers to check on you. They thought ... maybe you were going mad."
"You're not - right. Focus. Didn't they get my letters?"
"Rodney, they couldn't understand your letters -"
"Well, obviously, they're very advanced con-"
"They weren't anything! There were just sheets and sheets of ravings, with your name scrawled at the bottom. Profanity and insults and scratchings - some were just sheets of newspaper, cut to letter size -"
"They were my theories! And my plans for experiments, and lists of the equipment I would need, I....," he abruptly ran out of steam, "I dictated them all to Kavanaugh."
...
John expected tirades and anger toward the treacherous Kavanaugh, recently hauled off by the local constabulary, but Rodney was more smug and maliciously gleeful: all his professional suspicions, and more, finally born out.
...
John ambled back to where Rodney sat, hunched in his folding chair, staring grumpily at lake Windermere. He trailed his fingers gently through Rodney's hair and looked out at the lake. He counted to himself.....
"Fine, is that enough? I am replete with natural beauty. I am awash with the grandeur of, of, of all this. Meanwhile, those corrections you suggested yesterday could not possibly be more wrong, and I have journals to read and critique. Heaven only knows the idiocy that was published while I was blind, and as for the experiments you think we should put off until we get home...."
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 02:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 02:42 am (UTC)No matter where, no matter when, no matter what -- he's still so very Rodney.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 02:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:31 am (UTC)Also...
Rodney worked like a man possessed, then, when exhaustion struck, collapsed like an unstrung puppet.
That line is the best description of Rodney's working habits ever. So perfect.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:54 am (UTC):o)))))))
Thanks for the laugh!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 04:07 am (UTC)Welcome to the comm!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 04:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 07:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 05:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 05:28 am (UTC)Oh, this is brilliant. I love mad scientist Rodney and the evil scheming assistant, Kavanaugh. And Beckett! All so very themselves still, even though far far from Atlantis.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 07:04 am (UTC)Loved it!!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 07:23 am (UTC)woo hoo!
Date: 2005-09-04 01:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:13 pm (UTC)And the image of Beckett as the perplexed young physician in a high collar and vest? Yum!
M.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 04:49 pm (UTC)That is an attractive image of Carson, isn't it?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 03:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 04:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 06:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 09:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-04 10:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-05 02:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-06 06:38 pm (UTC)A Scientific Passion (SGA, Harlequin)
Date: 2005-09-06 06:56 pm (UTC)Your use of language in this fic is delectable--and it's very deft at blending the more contemporary personalities of the characters into the period setting. I particularly enjoyed:
The kitchen staff had the edgy, haunted eyes of soldiers too long on campaign
the butler's nerve broke at the top of the stairs.
That Scottish scoundrel
Rodney worked like a man possessed, then, when exhaustion struck, collapsed like an unstrung puppet.
too afraid I might let the genius out
I am awash with the grandeur of, of, of all this.
The "excerpts"-style presentation left me wanting to read all the in-between bits as well, alas *g*...but it was a great device for compressing an impressive amount of plot into the confines of a short fic.
Thanks for writing!
~
Re: A Scientific Passion (SGA, Harlequin)
Date: 2005-09-07 06:09 am (UTC)*points* Wot she said. Yeh.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-07 02:13 am (UTC)wags, springwoof
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-07 02:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-09 08:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 03:26 am (UTC)Heh
Date: 2006-02-03 06:34 am (UTC)Wonderful job. I'd love to see in between the blanks... Jesus, everyone hates Kavanagh, don't they? ;) *snicker* A man we love to hate... *snort*
----}-
Krys
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-02 10:35 am (UTC)