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sga_flashficwriting is easy
(just open a vein)
by SomeInstant
Disclaimer: The characters and universe are not mine. Alas, alack, and woe is me.
Rating: PG. Gen.
Word Count: 1225
Summary: Some things that should be written down, but often aren't.
A/N: So, I have this thing about documents. (I'm a historian; this isn't surprising.) But as much as I love traditional documents-- letters and diaries and court records and all those wonderful, useful sorts of things-- I have a special place in my heart for the sort of stuff that gets left in pockets and run through the wash. So this is kind of a loose collection of fragments: things that were almost documents, but never actually made it to paper. Or something like that, anyway.
1. Key words in bold. Please define.
It's a little like Adam naming the beasts.
They come through Earth's stargate to the lost city of Atlantis, submerged in an anonymous ocean on some unknown planet in the middle of the Pegasus galaxy, where they stumble over endless numbers of nameless objects. And because it's the least efficient thing ever to continue to refer to these as the Ancient device that glows in Major Sheppard's hands or that one thing that whistles, they begin to name things.
As might be expected in a population largely dominated by the scientifically-minded, the naming of objects is a matter of grave importance. Not only is there the matter of personal glory-- there is a flowering of botanical specimens with names like Toxicodendron radicans (L.) Elliot and Digitalis lanata Parrish-- but there is also the basic necessity of simplification. Common understanding is key: there can be no confusion about whether the shiny pointy buzzing thing of death is called a pressurized scatter-bomb or a Kavanagh device when McKay is shouting for Zelenka to pull his thumb out of his ass and help him defuse the damn thing.
Thus, most of the names are simple and utilitarian, describing the function-- or perceived function-- as closely as possible, the idea being that there's no time to waste saying, "Wait, you want the what?" in an emergency situation. Additionally, if there's information in the surviving Ancient database (which, given the seemingly schizophrenic archival organization, is nearly impossible to find), a basic translation of the Ancient term is used. Hence, transporter, personal shield, stunner, cloak, and stasis chamber.
Of course, there's also a description of something in the database which translates as gateship, but some military moron with his own cult of personality decided they were puddlejumpers instead, and so they are.
2. Mapmaker, mapmaker.
"You know how to get there, right?" John asks.
"Yes, of course I do." McKay looks offended. "It's not that complicated-- transporter to the thingy on the third arm, past the glass tower, take a hard left at the second ramp--"
"Third," John corrects. "You know, I can draw you a map, if you like."
"-- third, whatever, and I don't need a map. Third ramp, and then it's down two levels from--"
"Three."
"-- yes, fine, three levels from the shark tank--"
"Shark tank?" John interrupts, because hey. Perfect spot for his evil lair, should he ever need one. Although that's really more Rodney's thing.
McKay shrugs. "Shark tank, overly deep reflecting pool-- take your pick. I prefer shark tank. Much more poetic than a reflecting pool."
"Assuming you like your poetry with teeth and laser beams attached to its head."
"Precisely," Rodney beams, and John gets a nice glow of hey, bonding. "So. Three levels from the shark tank, in through the double doors on the west side of the hexagonal complex, second hallway off the main, fourth--"
"Fifth," John says, fumbling through his vest pockets. "Look, I have paper and pen right here--"
"No, thank you," Rodney scowls. "Besides, your cartographic skills leave much to be desired. Second hallway off the main, fifth door on the right. I've got it, Major."
"Right," John says. He shoves the paper back inside his pockets. "So."
"So," Rodney says.
"Meet you there at eight?" he asks, and really hopes Rodney can make it without a map.
3. And if you play it backwards, she says "Paul is dead."
RAUNA THE LIAR: And you see, we had a choice. The god said--
DR. CARRIE ANDERS: The high god? Or--
RAUNA: It might have been. It was the god. It might have been Eleha, he's a tricky one, so it might have been. But it was the god, and-- Eleha is not the god, the only god, you understand this? Yes? But when I say 'the god,' I must also say Eleha, and also Oijala, and also [inaudible], and Kol, and so on, because they are all part of the god, but they are not the god, not alone. Yes?
ANDERS: Yes, thank you.
RAUNA: Good. But we had a choice, he gave us a choice. The god-- and this was so long ago, so long, the mountains were still sharp and new-- the god said to us, "I told you not to enter my cave, and you have disobeyed me!" And young Danyl-- not my daughter's son, but that is his namesake, this Danyl-- he said to the god, "But you let us disobey!"
ANDERS: Let us?
RAUNA: It is a puzzle. Danyl was puzzled. Why would the god say, "No!" and then let us enter the cave? The god created us, created the gods-- Oijala first, Kol last-- he is a child, Kol, you see. And the god also set the circle in stone and blew life through the stars and taught us to plow, the god did all this. And he could not stop us entering a cave? It is strange, that is what Danyl thought when he said, "You let us."
ANDERS: I see, yes. Thanks. What did the god do then?
RAUNA: He laughed! And it was terrible, oh. Terrible. The snow fell off the mountains when the god laughed at Danyl, and we all were afraid of death. And when the god stopped laughing, he told Danyl, "You disobeyed me because you chose to do so. I did not let you disobey me-- I let you have your own will. I would not have you for slaves." We were frightened, but very grateful for this, and Danyl thanked the god.
ANDERS: How? Did he-- did Danyl give the god something? Or--
RAUNA: Oh, no. How odd. What could we give the god? No, Danyl just thanked the god-- you know, said "Thank you," and took his hand.
ANDERS: Ah. Sorry. I didn't understand.
RAUNA: Do you-- your people, I mean-- give the god something? To thank him?
ANDERS: Well. Um, some of us do. It's complicated.
RAUNA: Gods are complicated.
ANDERS: That they are.
4. A history of smaller things.
It's hard not to be dazzled by the Ancients when one is living in their great masterpiece. Elizabeth is aware that they had their imperfections, but it is difficult to really believe these flaws exist when she steps out onto a balcony and sees Atlantis stretching her perfect silver arms across the sea. It's the same sort of monumental beauty found in a great cathedral, or at the edge of a canyon: so great and incomprehensible in scale that there's almost a feeling of terror. Awe.
Elizabeth tries to remember that the Ancients, these great architects, were people, and therefore fallible. They had their moments of petty anger, their great mistakes and griefs, but Atlantis makes this difficult. It is hard not to imagine this place filled with philosopher-kings, and feel dwarfed and mean and guilty of usurpation while walking down the halls. This is why she laughs with joy to discover the patch of rough gouging on the underside of a railing. Translating the carved phrases, she learns the going rate of a blowjob ten thousand years ago, a few new expletives, and that Orin had inappropriate relations with his mother.
It isn't much evidence. One incident of graffiti is a small thing in a city this large. But it does help.
(just open a vein)
by SomeInstant
Disclaimer: The characters and universe are not mine. Alas, alack, and woe is me.
Rating: PG. Gen.
Word Count: 1225
Summary: Some things that should be written down, but often aren't.
A/N: So, I have this thing about documents. (I'm a historian; this isn't surprising.) But as much as I love traditional documents-- letters and diaries and court records and all those wonderful, useful sorts of things-- I have a special place in my heart for the sort of stuff that gets left in pockets and run through the wash. So this is kind of a loose collection of fragments: things that were almost documents, but never actually made it to paper. Or something like that, anyway.
1. Key words in bold. Please define.
It's a little like Adam naming the beasts.
They come through Earth's stargate to the lost city of Atlantis, submerged in an anonymous ocean on some unknown planet in the middle of the Pegasus galaxy, where they stumble over endless numbers of nameless objects. And because it's the least efficient thing ever to continue to refer to these as the Ancient device that glows in Major Sheppard's hands or that one thing that whistles, they begin to name things.
As might be expected in a population largely dominated by the scientifically-minded, the naming of objects is a matter of grave importance. Not only is there the matter of personal glory-- there is a flowering of botanical specimens with names like Toxicodendron radicans (L.) Elliot and Digitalis lanata Parrish-- but there is also the basic necessity of simplification. Common understanding is key: there can be no confusion about whether the shiny pointy buzzing thing of death is called a pressurized scatter-bomb or a Kavanagh device when McKay is shouting for Zelenka to pull his thumb out of his ass and help him defuse the damn thing.
Thus, most of the names are simple and utilitarian, describing the function-- or perceived function-- as closely as possible, the idea being that there's no time to waste saying, "Wait, you want the what?" in an emergency situation. Additionally, if there's information in the surviving Ancient database (which, given the seemingly schizophrenic archival organization, is nearly impossible to find), a basic translation of the Ancient term is used. Hence, transporter, personal shield, stunner, cloak, and stasis chamber.
Of course, there's also a description of something in the database which translates as gateship, but some military moron with his own cult of personality decided they were puddlejumpers instead, and so they are.
2. Mapmaker, mapmaker.
"You know how to get there, right?" John asks.
"Yes, of course I do." McKay looks offended. "It's not that complicated-- transporter to the thingy on the third arm, past the glass tower, take a hard left at the second ramp--"
"Third," John corrects. "You know, I can draw you a map, if you like."
"-- third, whatever, and I don't need a map. Third ramp, and then it's down two levels from--"
"Three."
"-- yes, fine, three levels from the shark tank--"
"Shark tank?" John interrupts, because hey. Perfect spot for his evil lair, should he ever need one. Although that's really more Rodney's thing.
McKay shrugs. "Shark tank, overly deep reflecting pool-- take your pick. I prefer shark tank. Much more poetic than a reflecting pool."
"Assuming you like your poetry with teeth and laser beams attached to its head."
"Precisely," Rodney beams, and John gets a nice glow of hey, bonding. "So. Three levels from the shark tank, in through the double doors on the west side of the hexagonal complex, second hallway off the main, fourth--"
"Fifth," John says, fumbling through his vest pockets. "Look, I have paper and pen right here--"
"No, thank you," Rodney scowls. "Besides, your cartographic skills leave much to be desired. Second hallway off the main, fifth door on the right. I've got it, Major."
"Right," John says. He shoves the paper back inside his pockets. "So."
"So," Rodney says.
"Meet you there at eight?" he asks, and really hopes Rodney can make it without a map.
3. And if you play it backwards, she says "Paul is dead."
RAUNA THE LIAR: And you see, we had a choice. The god said--
DR. CARRIE ANDERS: The high god? Or--
RAUNA: It might have been. It was the god. It might have been Eleha, he's a tricky one, so it might have been. But it was the god, and-- Eleha is not the god, the only god, you understand this? Yes? But when I say 'the god,' I must also say Eleha, and also Oijala, and also [inaudible], and Kol, and so on, because they are all part of the god, but they are not the god, not alone. Yes?
ANDERS: Yes, thank you.
RAUNA: Good. But we had a choice, he gave us a choice. The god-- and this was so long ago, so long, the mountains were still sharp and new-- the god said to us, "I told you not to enter my cave, and you have disobeyed me!" And young Danyl-- not my daughter's son, but that is his namesake, this Danyl-- he said to the god, "But you let us disobey!"
ANDERS: Let us?
RAUNA: It is a puzzle. Danyl was puzzled. Why would the god say, "No!" and then let us enter the cave? The god created us, created the gods-- Oijala first, Kol last-- he is a child, Kol, you see. And the god also set the circle in stone and blew life through the stars and taught us to plow, the god did all this. And he could not stop us entering a cave? It is strange, that is what Danyl thought when he said, "You let us."
ANDERS: I see, yes. Thanks. What did the god do then?
RAUNA: He laughed! And it was terrible, oh. Terrible. The snow fell off the mountains when the god laughed at Danyl, and we all were afraid of death. And when the god stopped laughing, he told Danyl, "You disobeyed me because you chose to do so. I did not let you disobey me-- I let you have your own will. I would not have you for slaves." We were frightened, but very grateful for this, and Danyl thanked the god.
ANDERS: How? Did he-- did Danyl give the god something? Or--
RAUNA: Oh, no. How odd. What could we give the god? No, Danyl just thanked the god-- you know, said "Thank you," and took his hand.
ANDERS: Ah. Sorry. I didn't understand.
RAUNA: Do you-- your people, I mean-- give the god something? To thank him?
ANDERS: Well. Um, some of us do. It's complicated.
RAUNA: Gods are complicated.
ANDERS: That they are.
4. A history of smaller things.
It's hard not to be dazzled by the Ancients when one is living in their great masterpiece. Elizabeth is aware that they had their imperfections, but it is difficult to really believe these flaws exist when she steps out onto a balcony and sees Atlantis stretching her perfect silver arms across the sea. It's the same sort of monumental beauty found in a great cathedral, or at the edge of a canyon: so great and incomprehensible in scale that there's almost a feeling of terror. Awe.
Elizabeth tries to remember that the Ancients, these great architects, were people, and therefore fallible. They had their moments of petty anger, their great mistakes and griefs, but Atlantis makes this difficult. It is hard not to imagine this place filled with philosopher-kings, and feel dwarfed and mean and guilty of usurpation while walking down the halls. This is why she laughs with joy to discover the patch of rough gouging on the underside of a railing. Translating the carved phrases, she learns the going rate of a blowjob ten thousand years ago, a few new expletives, and that Orin had inappropriate relations with his mother.
It isn't much evidence. One incident of graffiti is a small thing in a city this large. But it does help.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 07:07 am (UTC)And John needs an Evil Overlord lair. He can have sharks with Ancient laser beams attached to their heads!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 07:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 07:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:10 am (UTC)Oooh, yes, me too, especially when they're as lovely and intriguing as this is. I liked them all, but #3 is my favorite, partly because we don't get to see enough of the other scientists doing their thing in the Pegasus galaxy, and partly because this:
He laughed! And it was terrible, oh. Terrible. The snow fell off the mountains when the god laughed at Danyl
is just such a fabulous image.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:31 am (UTC)Precisely. This is what I find so flat-out cool about graffiti: it's like these little footnotes of basic human behavior which we leave lying around. There's some really, really cool stuff in the ruins at Pompeii-- especially in the brothels, actually.
And John needs an Evil Overlord lair. He can have sharks with Ancient laser beams attached to their heads!
::grins:: In my head, John totally imprinted on the James Bond movies when he was a kid. I think he's just waiting for the perfect moment to get Rodney to join him in reenacting Dr. No.
(Reply to this)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:38 am (UTC)Also, my other major was in anthropology, so I felt like maybe I should stick up for the oft-maligned "soft" sciences. ::shakes fist impotently at fanon McKay::
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:42 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked it. Rodney's not technically the narrator for that section, but he was totally there in spirit. Because, pfft. Puddlejumper. What sort of name is that, anyway? Obviously something a drawling flyboy would come up with.
This annoys Rodney to no end.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:45 am (UTC)And the map! They are totally both going to get lost.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:48 am (UTC)::sighs in envy:: I want that job. So badly. I do not care that these are fictional characters-- imagine what cool stuff you could find! White boards in the lab with the occassional scribbles in permanent marker (because they ran out of erasable kind, dammit, and McKay still had stuff to do), requistion lists for things like birth control and socks, little cartoons of Sheppard looking goofy in his aviator glasses (maybe with a caption reading, "Top Gun Was A Movie, Colonel, Not A Way Of Life")....
But I digress.
Thank you so much for the feedback, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 08:50 am (UTC)And the map! They are totally both going to get lost.
Yes. Yes, they are.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 12:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 01:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 01:51 pm (UTC)This was very cool.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 01:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 02:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 02:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 02:52 pm (UTC)Definitions
Date: 2006-01-21 03:17 pm (UTC)Also:
shiny pointy buzzing thing of death, the: see under shit, oh
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 03:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 04:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-21 04:48 pm (UTC)