The taste of whelks by
almost_clara (Back story challenge)
Jun. 24th, 2007 06:53 pmTitle: The taste of whelks
Author/artist:
almost_clara
Rating: PG-13
Characters: McKay/Sheppard
Summary: Taste and memory


It's the taste that does it. And probably the sound of the waves, muffled by familiarity, it's true but part of the texture of Atlantis-home.
Almost-whelks.
There's a small, rubbery morsel lodged in Mckay's molar and the taste -
Mo ... Stubbs(?). Blinding smile, (bad teeth) bushy brown hair, raucous laugh, bright scarlet lipstick (to match her toes) and, yes, he'd seen that one coming.
"A day at the seaside," Dabney had said. "Sun, sea, girls!" he'd said, waggling his eyebrows and warming to his theme. It was, he'd explained, an un-missable opportunity to soak up the culture of this historic island that was their temporary home. And the girls. Wondrous creatures: parading in all their summer finery on this one gloriously sunny day - the only one, probably, that this miserable, dank, drizzly climate allowed them each year. The girls! All peep-toe sandals and bright dresses and fragrant suntan lotion! (They did have suntan lotion in the UK - right?)
Sheppard had gazed down upon paradise the previous day (just passing through, you understand, following his flight plan) and wished to view it at close quarters: grass, sheep, hills, large stretches of pretty water. Too late for the host of golden daffodils, but still ...
"There might even be surf!" Again, the eyebrow waggling. This time with crossed eyes.
Blackpool it was then.
There wasn't any surf but the sunshine was glorious and the girls were pretty and there was pink rock that stuck to your teeth and deafening amusement arcades and candyfloss and the smell of seafood and vinegar and – "Chips love, we call 'em chips here. Have you ever had a deep-fried Mars Bar?" Mo, with an accent that almost required subtitles. "Hey, d'you want to come on the Big Dipper? Come on, it'll be a right laugh."
Hand seized in a surprisingly firm grip, he found himself crushed against Mo on the wooden seat, shrieking and wriggling as they rode the dips and curves. "Give us a kiss, love!" The rollercoaster swung round and the scarlet lips descended and - the flavour of whelks. And laughter.
"Am I boring you?"
There's a distinctly hostile glint appearing in those eyes. Sheppard thinks fast. "Have you ever had a deep-fried Mars Bar?"
"What?"
"Never mind." And sets to with a smile, rejoicing in the warmth and the strength and the taste of whelks.
Author/artist:
Rating: PG-13
Characters: McKay/Sheppard
Summary: Taste and memory


It's the taste that does it. And probably the sound of the waves, muffled by familiarity, it's true but part of the texture of Atlantis-home.
Almost-whelks.
There's a small, rubbery morsel lodged in Mckay's molar and the taste -
Mo ... Stubbs(?). Blinding smile, (bad teeth) bushy brown hair, raucous laugh, bright scarlet lipstick (to match her toes) and, yes, he'd seen that one coming.
"A day at the seaside," Dabney had said. "Sun, sea, girls!" he'd said, waggling his eyebrows and warming to his theme. It was, he'd explained, an un-missable opportunity to soak up the culture of this historic island that was their temporary home. And the girls. Wondrous creatures: parading in all their summer finery on this one gloriously sunny day - the only one, probably, that this miserable, dank, drizzly climate allowed them each year. The girls! All peep-toe sandals and bright dresses and fragrant suntan lotion! (They did have suntan lotion in the UK - right?)
Sheppard had gazed down upon paradise the previous day (just passing through, you understand, following his flight plan) and wished to view it at close quarters: grass, sheep, hills, large stretches of pretty water. Too late for the host of golden daffodils, but still ...
"There might even be surf!" Again, the eyebrow waggling. This time with crossed eyes.
Blackpool it was then.
There wasn't any surf but the sunshine was glorious and the girls were pretty and there was pink rock that stuck to your teeth and deafening amusement arcades and candyfloss and the smell of seafood and vinegar and – "Chips love, we call 'em chips here. Have you ever had a deep-fried Mars Bar?" Mo, with an accent that almost required subtitles. "Hey, d'you want to come on the Big Dipper? Come on, it'll be a right laugh."
Hand seized in a surprisingly firm grip, he found himself crushed against Mo on the wooden seat, shrieking and wriggling as they rode the dips and curves. "Give us a kiss, love!" The rollercoaster swung round and the scarlet lips descended and - the flavour of whelks. And laughter.
"Am I boring you?"
There's a distinctly hostile glint appearing in those eyes. Sheppard thinks fast. "Have you ever had a deep-fried Mars Bar?"
"What?"
"Never mind." And sets to with a smile, rejoicing in the warmth and the strength and the taste of whelks.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-24 06:34 pm (UTC)I can't stop staring at the picture... and the memory is wonderfully drawn.
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Date: 2007-06-24 09:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2007-06-25 09:25 pm (UTC):)
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Date: 2007-06-25 11:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-02 12:01 pm (UTC)Lovely!
Date: 2007-06-27 02:50 am (UTC)Re: Lovely!
Date: 2007-06-27 02:52 am (UTC)Even if it's seafood-flavored. Ew. ;oP
Re: Lovely!
Date: 2007-07-01 09:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-01 09:38 pm (UTC)I just love the word and idea of the whelk. And the unfussedness of this.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-15 10:57 pm (UTC)Hee - yes well, I did try to think of an American equivalent but it made my head hurt. So I stopped. And, well, really. Whelks. The word calls to you in the same way as Neasden or elastoplast ... :)