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sga_flashfic2005-10-19 08:18 pm
mz-bstone.livejournal.com) wrote in sga_flashfic2005-10-19 08:18 pm
Entry tags:
Food Challenge: the inner constellation by Brighid
Challenge: Food
Title:the inner constellation
Spoilers: None, really
Rating: G
Author: Brighid
Notes: Futurefic
Summary:
The brightness, the angle, the sighting
of the stars shines in the brain luring
till inner constellation matches outer. -- Marge Piercey, "The Perpetual Migration"
the inner constellation
by Brighid
Three years.
Three Atlantean years.
Elizabeth wonders when she started thinking in local time, when she started living it. Their wristwatches still mark off the minutes and hours of the world they've left behind them, but their bodies have slowly moved into synch with the slower spin, the longer orbit of Atlantis. The world has crept into them, until it has become the very pulse of their lives.
She'd never expected that.
She tosses nuts into the coals of the smallest of the three beach fires, just to the edge, and watches as they slowly blister in the heat. It doesn't take long before they blacken and pop, the thick casings cracking loudly with a swell of roasted nutmeat. She scoops them back to cooler sand and prises them apart although they are still almost too hot to touch. She burns her tongue a little on the first mouthful, but doesn't mind. They taste sweet.
Once, she might have tried to describe them in terms of foods from a world in another galaxy. Tonight she simply enjoys them for what they are: sweet and dark and meaty.
"Penny for them?" John says from behind and a little to her left, startling her from her contemplation. He's smiling down at her when she turns to squint up at him, and she notices with a sudden pang that he's gone silvery at the temples. The Pegasus galaxy has aged him, although today it's been hard to see it. Three hours ago he had an entire team of Athosian children hanging off of him, keeping him from scoring a winning touchdown. In the aftermath he looks like a grubby kid himself, with his Hawaiian shirt grass-stained and a hole in the knee of his sweats.
"Mmm-mmmm," she says, quickly swallowing her mouthful. "I don't know that they're worth that much, actually. It's just ... I feel like I'm home." She gestures down the length of the beach, at the mix of Athosians and humans who've somehow over the years become Atlanteans, too. "I didn't ever expect that."
John snorts, a habit that he's picked up from Rodney over the years. "Yeah. Me neither. And for a while, I thought the neighbours were going be a deal-breaker. But ... yeah. This is pretty sweet. And hey, we still get football, even if it is a few weeks behind."
"And hockey," Rodney adds, walking up to them. He's got a half of a mouthful of something tucked into his cheek and his fingers are sticky. The blue-zinc cream on his nose has smeared slightly, but he looks content enough in his Bermuda shorts and T-shirt. Elizabeth notices that this one has a cartoon Einstein calculating superhero physics, and has to bite back a smile. "I felt it my duty to tell you there are 'smores on the go at the main fire pit -- and they're roasting awai'i, too, Elizabeth -- because Teyla can only distract Ronon for so long." He says it very seriously, as though he were announcing the discovery of a ZPM. But then, it's Rodney, and there's chocolate involved. This time she just goes ahead and smiles.
John grins. "'Smores?" he says, and his eyes light up with an almost unholy glee. "Like, real marshmallows and real chocolate and real graham crackers?"
"I've had five," Rodney says, and licks the stickiness off of his fingers in a truly obscene and oddly endearing display of gustatory delight.
"And we're worried about Ronon," John says, rolling his eyes. "C'mon. With those two around, chocolate and marshmallows probably rate as an endangered species." He reaches down, pulls Elizabeth to her feet and then turns and starts trotting towards the main fire pit.
"I didn't have to tell you," Rodney points out, breaking into his own dogtrot to catch up. "And Metzinger is trying hybrid 'smores ... she's mixing in awai'i. I told her it'd utterly ruin the cohesion of graham to marshmallow, but botanists never listen..."
Elizabeth snorts at that, and then claps her hand over her mouth and nose in consternation.
Three Atlantean years.
It was bound to happen.
She wonders what awai'i will taste like with chocolate.
)0(
End
Title:the inner constellation
Spoilers: None, really
Rating: G
Author: Brighid
Notes: Futurefic
Summary:
The brightness, the angle, the sighting
of the stars shines in the brain luring
till inner constellation matches outer. -- Marge Piercey, "The Perpetual Migration"
the inner constellation
by Brighid
Three years.
Three Atlantean years.
Elizabeth wonders when she started thinking in local time, when she started living it. Their wristwatches still mark off the minutes and hours of the world they've left behind them, but their bodies have slowly moved into synch with the slower spin, the longer orbit of Atlantis. The world has crept into them, until it has become the very pulse of their lives.
She'd never expected that.
She tosses nuts into the coals of the smallest of the three beach fires, just to the edge, and watches as they slowly blister in the heat. It doesn't take long before they blacken and pop, the thick casings cracking loudly with a swell of roasted nutmeat. She scoops them back to cooler sand and prises them apart although they are still almost too hot to touch. She burns her tongue a little on the first mouthful, but doesn't mind. They taste sweet.
Once, she might have tried to describe them in terms of foods from a world in another galaxy. Tonight she simply enjoys them for what they are: sweet and dark and meaty.
"Penny for them?" John says from behind and a little to her left, startling her from her contemplation. He's smiling down at her when she turns to squint up at him, and she notices with a sudden pang that he's gone silvery at the temples. The Pegasus galaxy has aged him, although today it's been hard to see it. Three hours ago he had an entire team of Athosian children hanging off of him, keeping him from scoring a winning touchdown. In the aftermath he looks like a grubby kid himself, with his Hawaiian shirt grass-stained and a hole in the knee of his sweats.
"Mmm-mmmm," she says, quickly swallowing her mouthful. "I don't know that they're worth that much, actually. It's just ... I feel like I'm home." She gestures down the length of the beach, at the mix of Athosians and humans who've somehow over the years become Atlanteans, too. "I didn't ever expect that."
John snorts, a habit that he's picked up from Rodney over the years. "Yeah. Me neither. And for a while, I thought the neighbours were going be a deal-breaker. But ... yeah. This is pretty sweet. And hey, we still get football, even if it is a few weeks behind."
"And hockey," Rodney adds, walking up to them. He's got a half of a mouthful of something tucked into his cheek and his fingers are sticky. The blue-zinc cream on his nose has smeared slightly, but he looks content enough in his Bermuda shorts and T-shirt. Elizabeth notices that this one has a cartoon Einstein calculating superhero physics, and has to bite back a smile. "I felt it my duty to tell you there are 'smores on the go at the main fire pit -- and they're roasting awai'i, too, Elizabeth -- because Teyla can only distract Ronon for so long." He says it very seriously, as though he were announcing the discovery of a ZPM. But then, it's Rodney, and there's chocolate involved. This time she just goes ahead and smiles.
John grins. "'Smores?" he says, and his eyes light up with an almost unholy glee. "Like, real marshmallows and real chocolate and real graham crackers?"
"I've had five," Rodney says, and licks the stickiness off of his fingers in a truly obscene and oddly endearing display of gustatory delight.
"And we're worried about Ronon," John says, rolling his eyes. "C'mon. With those two around, chocolate and marshmallows probably rate as an endangered species." He reaches down, pulls Elizabeth to her feet and then turns and starts trotting towards the main fire pit.
"I didn't have to tell you," Rodney points out, breaking into his own dogtrot to catch up. "And Metzinger is trying hybrid 'smores ... she's mixing in awai'i. I told her it'd utterly ruin the cohesion of graham to marshmallow, but botanists never listen..."
Elizabeth snorts at that, and then claps her hand over her mouth and nose in consternation.
Three Atlantean years.
It was bound to happen.
She wonders what awai'i will taste like with chocolate.
)0(
End