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sga_flashficTitle: Stirrup Cup
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Rodney, John, Elizabeth, Laura Cadman
Pairing: McShep friendship, or slash if you squint.
Spoilers: Outcast
Notes: A snippet of a McShep horse AU I’m sort of-not really working on. 873 words.
Summary: “It has long been a tradition for those partaking in a hunt to have a drink before the hunt commences, as a toast to success in the pursuit of their victims.”
Rodney detests foxhunting with a passion, but Elizabeth is enamored of the faux-British atmosphere: hunt staff in their crisp, scarlet frock coats, the field in equally formal black, tan-and-white hounds milling at the feet of three dozen snorting, edgy horses… Even the weather is being British this morning, cold, white mist scudding across the Virginia hills in ragged wisps.
Rodney hates the way foxhunters treat their horses, but Elizabeth is at home among the casually rich, and Elizabeth pays his bills – even the outrageous ones, like the staff trip to the Baltimore Aquarium so Carson could go look at sea turtles – so he has no choice but to give in. Once a year (she’s mercifully easy to please, that way) he pulls out his show clothes, loads two of his safest, sturdiest eventers into one of the smaller horse trailers, and makes the three hour haul to Virginia so Elizabeth can bask in the prestige of riding with the Middleburg Hunt.
This year there were three horses, a bigger trailer, one more passenger in the crew cab of the truck. Elizabeth talked most of the way down, oblivious to the tension in the air, or – more likely – ignoring it. Cadman, driving, bantered gamely with her. Rodney sprawled as best he could in the back seat, trying and failing to catch up on the sleep he’d been deprived of despite the darkness that lingered beyond the windows, which was a sign to all normal people that they should still be in bed.
John – their added passenger – spent the whole trip stiff and silent, ignoring everything, even when Rodney slid sock-clad toes under his thigh in an effort to keep them warm.
Now Rodney sits astride Copper – Copernicus, if one of these snobby bastards bothers to ask – and watches John get a leg up from Cadman, swing gracefully onto Matejko’s back, and wonders how Elizabeth can be so generous and so callous at the same time. Maybe she thinks she’s doing John a favor. She doesn’t know him all that well; she probably thinks he’s just being insecure – naturally, his family and old friends will be delighted to see him.
Elizabeth is already away, mingling with the rest of the field, tall and prim and quite at home on Logjam (and Rodney’s never forgiven Ronon for that one, even though pulling the massive, leggy colt from his dam’s stubborn womb had given Ronon naming privileges). Rodney eyeballs the riders, searching for familiar faces, even though their formal attire makes them indistinguishable, interchangeable in his mind. He looks at the horses instead, picking out one that might belong to the O’Conners, another that he knows is Kent Allen’s, and then John and Mat are beside him, and John’s saying “There’s my brother,” in a flat, cold voice.
“We’ll stay at the back of the field,” Rodney promises, somewhat fruitlessly, because despite the heavy emphasis on etiquette at Middleburg, he knows that when they’re milling around watching the hounds cast, there won’t be a ‘back’ to the field, and there are no hilltoppers to hide with, today.
The big bay carrying Kent Allen is headed their way, but nobody tags along, because they all know Rodney, and most of them dislike him. Allen only talks to him out of professional courtesy.
“Dr. McKay, are you going to join us, or are you hoping we’ll ride off without you?” Allen asks as he stops his horse in front of them.
Rodney’s hoping precisely that, but again, fruitlessly. Elizabeth would never forgive him for embarrassing her like that. “Dr. Allen,” he says perfunctorily. “How’s the practice?”
“Doing well,” Allen replies brightly. “And who’s your -? My god, John Sheppard! Where have you been all this time?”
John glares at him, and Allen blushes faintly. Everybody knows where John’s been all this time – at least, figuratively speaking. “Oh, you know,” John shrugs, his body casual, his eyes hard, accusing. “Here and there.”
“Your brother’s here,” Allen offers – a conciliatory gesture, or just a way to keep up his end of the conversation.
“I saw him,” John answers flatly.
“Better get a move on, McKay,” Cadman puts in, popping her head out the window of the cab. “They’re passing out the shots.”
Rodney snorts in derision, but throws her a grateful glance over his shoulder as Allen leads them off. John and Cadman hadn’t started out on the best of terms, but in the eight months he’s been riding for Rodney, John has become part of the team, and Cadman, as head groom, looks out for the team.
When she isn’t driving Rodney batshit crazy.
Stirrup cups are being offered up by a handful of servants as Rodney’s trio approaches the other riders. Allen accepts one, moving off with a farewell tip of his head. Rodney declines the port with a curt “No, thank you,” - he still doesn’t understand why anyone would want to be drunk on the back of a galloping horse - but John slugs his measure back like a shot of medicine.
“Alright,” he says, handing the silver cup back to the servant, “let’s get this show on the road.”
And, to Rodney’s surprise, he turns Mat toward the gray mare carrying his brother.
-end-
Definitions
Cast - hounds are said to cast, or to be cast by the huntsman, when they are trying to regain “the line,” or the scent of a fox.
Eventing - the equine version of the triathlon. An eventer is a horse (or rider) who participates in the sport.
Hilltoppers - The slow group during a hunt. Traditionally, in British foxhunting, hilltoppers follow(ed) the hunt as some distance, watching from the hilltops. In American foxhunting, depending on terrain, they generally follow behind the main field at a more sedate pace, going around the jumps instead of over them.
Matejko - A Polish painter. Lorne got to name that horse. :-)
More foxunting definitions can be found at www.foxhuntva.com and www.annapolisvalleyhunt.org
Summary shamelessly borrowed from a description of an actual stirrup cup at Ruby Lane.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Rodney, John, Elizabeth, Laura Cadman
Pairing: McShep friendship, or slash if you squint.
Spoilers: Outcast
Notes: A snippet of a McShep horse AU I’m sort of-not really working on. 873 words.
Summary: “It has long been a tradition for those partaking in a hunt to have a drink before the hunt commences, as a toast to success in the pursuit of their victims.”
Rodney detests foxhunting with a passion, but Elizabeth is enamored of the faux-British atmosphere: hunt staff in their crisp, scarlet frock coats, the field in equally formal black, tan-and-white hounds milling at the feet of three dozen snorting, edgy horses… Even the weather is being British this morning, cold, white mist scudding across the Virginia hills in ragged wisps.
Rodney hates the way foxhunters treat their horses, but Elizabeth is at home among the casually rich, and Elizabeth pays his bills – even the outrageous ones, like the staff trip to the Baltimore Aquarium so Carson could go look at sea turtles – so he has no choice but to give in. Once a year (she’s mercifully easy to please, that way) he pulls out his show clothes, loads two of his safest, sturdiest eventers into one of the smaller horse trailers, and makes the three hour haul to Virginia so Elizabeth can bask in the prestige of riding with the Middleburg Hunt.
This year there were three horses, a bigger trailer, one more passenger in the crew cab of the truck. Elizabeth talked most of the way down, oblivious to the tension in the air, or – more likely – ignoring it. Cadman, driving, bantered gamely with her. Rodney sprawled as best he could in the back seat, trying and failing to catch up on the sleep he’d been deprived of despite the darkness that lingered beyond the windows, which was a sign to all normal people that they should still be in bed.
John – their added passenger – spent the whole trip stiff and silent, ignoring everything, even when Rodney slid sock-clad toes under his thigh in an effort to keep them warm.
Now Rodney sits astride Copper – Copernicus, if one of these snobby bastards bothers to ask – and watches John get a leg up from Cadman, swing gracefully onto Matejko’s back, and wonders how Elizabeth can be so generous and so callous at the same time. Maybe she thinks she’s doing John a favor. She doesn’t know him all that well; she probably thinks he’s just being insecure – naturally, his family and old friends will be delighted to see him.
Elizabeth is already away, mingling with the rest of the field, tall and prim and quite at home on Logjam (and Rodney’s never forgiven Ronon for that one, even though pulling the massive, leggy colt from his dam’s stubborn womb had given Ronon naming privileges). Rodney eyeballs the riders, searching for familiar faces, even though their formal attire makes them indistinguishable, interchangeable in his mind. He looks at the horses instead, picking out one that might belong to the O’Conners, another that he knows is Kent Allen’s, and then John and Mat are beside him, and John’s saying “There’s my brother,” in a flat, cold voice.
“We’ll stay at the back of the field,” Rodney promises, somewhat fruitlessly, because despite the heavy emphasis on etiquette at Middleburg, he knows that when they’re milling around watching the hounds cast, there won’t be a ‘back’ to the field, and there are no hilltoppers to hide with, today.
The big bay carrying Kent Allen is headed their way, but nobody tags along, because they all know Rodney, and most of them dislike him. Allen only talks to him out of professional courtesy.
“Dr. McKay, are you going to join us, or are you hoping we’ll ride off without you?” Allen asks as he stops his horse in front of them.
Rodney’s hoping precisely that, but again, fruitlessly. Elizabeth would never forgive him for embarrassing her like that. “Dr. Allen,” he says perfunctorily. “How’s the practice?”
“Doing well,” Allen replies brightly. “And who’s your -? My god, John Sheppard! Where have you been all this time?”
John glares at him, and Allen blushes faintly. Everybody knows where John’s been all this time – at least, figuratively speaking. “Oh, you know,” John shrugs, his body casual, his eyes hard, accusing. “Here and there.”
“Your brother’s here,” Allen offers – a conciliatory gesture, or just a way to keep up his end of the conversation.
“I saw him,” John answers flatly.
“Better get a move on, McKay,” Cadman puts in, popping her head out the window of the cab. “They’re passing out the shots.”
Rodney snorts in derision, but throws her a grateful glance over his shoulder as Allen leads them off. John and Cadman hadn’t started out on the best of terms, but in the eight months he’s been riding for Rodney, John has become part of the team, and Cadman, as head groom, looks out for the team.
When she isn’t driving Rodney batshit crazy.
Stirrup cups are being offered up by a handful of servants as Rodney’s trio approaches the other riders. Allen accepts one, moving off with a farewell tip of his head. Rodney declines the port with a curt “No, thank you,” - he still doesn’t understand why anyone would want to be drunk on the back of a galloping horse - but John slugs his measure back like a shot of medicine.
“Alright,” he says, handing the silver cup back to the servant, “let’s get this show on the road.”
And, to Rodney’s surprise, he turns Mat toward the gray mare carrying his brother.
-end-
Definitions
Cast - hounds are said to cast, or to be cast by the huntsman, when they are trying to regain “the line,” or the scent of a fox.
Eventing - the equine version of the triathlon. An eventer is a horse (or rider) who participates in the sport.
Hilltoppers - The slow group during a hunt. Traditionally, in British foxhunting, hilltoppers follow(ed) the hunt as some distance, watching from the hilltops. In American foxhunting, depending on terrain, they generally follow behind the main field at a more sedate pace, going around the jumps instead of over them.
Matejko - A Polish painter. Lorne got to name that horse. :-)
More foxunting definitions can be found at www.foxhuntva.com and www.annapolisvalleyhunt.org
Summary shamelessly borrowed from a description of an actual stirrup cup at Ruby Lane.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-24 06:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-24 06:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-24 03:34 pm (UTC)Glad you like the idea. I am going to try to do more with this 'verse, but no promises. :-p