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esteefee
Pairing: none. Team gen
Rating: PG
Words: 1,263
Categories: h/c
Warnings: Implied violence to a small furry creature.
Spoilers: Conversion
A/N: Little experimental; sorry about that.
Wild Thing
by esteefee
There's too much light—too bright, hurts—and it wants to make the room dark, but nothing listens. It remembers a time when everything listened and obeyed.
It chitters its pain but can't cover its eyes; its limbs are bound with straps.
An Other comes in carrying food it cannot eat, and holds the food to its mouth. It snaps in anger. This is not food. Food is—it strains upward toward the Other's throat, and the Other backs away smelling of fear.
It whines with frustration and turns its head as far as it can from the too bright light.
:::
Another Other, this one smelling of strength and blood, looms by the bottom of its nest-bed. The Other touches its foot, and it twitches in fear. This Other makes sounds, irritatingly familiar but not understandable.
"We're here, Sheppard. We brought you something you should be able to eat."
It senses more Others, two more, one carrying food, real food—a small, struggling beast it remembers somehow, it remembers grasping the beast and wrapping its tail around a panicked throat—
But it has no tail, and cannot move its limbs.
"This is beyond ridiculous."
"I tracked Ellia, McKay. I know what he needs."
The Other holds the beast close, and it wastes no time sinking its teeth into the soft throat.
"Ewww. Jesus Christ that is disgusting. He'd better start changing back soon, because that is just too much."
"He cannot help himself, Rodney."
As it drinks down the last drops of sweet-hot-life, the beast kicks feebly and then shudders to stillness.
:::
Me. This is me. It still can't open its eyes, but it frowns when thought intrudes, almost as painfully sharp as the glowing lights. I'm alive. Why didn't they kill me? The thought is gone, slipping beneath the comforting fog, and it sighs and shifts, pulling at the straps holding it. It itches, skin-itch, and deeper. It clenches its claws and feels bright pain and heat flowing.
"Colonel! Stop that!"
It feels an Other cleaning the blood from its claw-hands, and smells something strange, biting its nostrils, stinging its palms. It snarls and jerks, but there is no escape, and now softness webs its claw-hands, making them useless.
It would strike/slash/kill but for the straps and webs holding it impotent.
When the Others bring it food, this time it turns away.
:::
"Brought you something." It is the large Other, the one who smells of blood and iron. The Other releases its claw-hand and slips something over it, something soft. It lifts its wrist up to its face so it can smell the thing. This thing belongs to it. It knows this, feels it around its wrist, soft and strong.
The thing is important. It tries to remember why.
The Other makes noises, "Sorry, Doc says I gotta..." and binds its hand again. Still, it feels better now, with the thing on its wrist soft underneath the binding.
It makes a song of thanks, but the Other doesn't seem to understand.
:::
One of the others is making song-noises. It listens idly, washes of understanding like dawn-bright colors.
"'And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws...'"
"What is this you're reading, Rodney?" The soft-voiced Other on its left. She, it remembers.
Today it can think more clearly, darting thoughts between the mists.
"It's a children's book about monsters. I just thought...considering...well, look at him. Really. And I loved this book when I was a kid. See, Max is bad, and his horrible mother punishes him by sending him to bed without dinner, and he goes on this adventure where he meets these wild things—actually, they kind of remind me of you, Conan—"
It hears a noise, like a growl, from below.
"—or, maybe not. And look at the claws on this one right here—you have to admit it kind of looks like...well."
A cough, and then the voice-song-sounds continue, familiar, strangely soothing. Almost, it understands.
"'...till Max said "BE STILL!" and tamed them with a magic trick.' Terrific illustration, don't you think?"
"It reminds me of a story Charrin used to tell me, as well." The she makes a soft and rippling sound, pleasant, and it rolls its head, squinting against the light. Trying to see. If it could see, maybe it could understand. It thinks it can almost understand.
"John?"
John. It knows that sound. And that soft voice. Needed. Something touches its arm, also soft, pressing against itching skin, and it shivers with a strange yearning.
"Rodney," the she sounds excited, "keep reading."
"'...a magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once, and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all.'"
It makes a sound, soft and rasping, and feels a touch again, squeezing its arm.
"Well, what do you know, he likes it. Hey, Sheppard."
It does like it. The soft touch, and the voices. Sheppard. I'm Sheppard. The thought comes clear, but not as painful this time, and he makes a questioning trill.
"I think he wishes you to read some more."
"'...and they made him king of all wild things. 'And now,' cried Max, 'let the wild rumpus start!'"
The she makes a clapping sound. He blinks his eyes open and cringes at the light, then forces them open again, needing to see.
"These infernal infirmary spotlights are too bright for him. You'd think Carson would've—" There is a sound of feet, and then finally, finally the painful shards of light stop stabbing at his eyes, and he opens them fully, letting them dilate.
The she on his left glows softly with health and young blood. The tall one at the bottom is leaning forward. The he on the right is holding something square, and staring at him.
"Is that better?"
The pain is gone. He trills softly in gratitude.
The he—Rodney, his mind whispers, that's Rodney—squints down at the...book. He's reading a book.
"'"Now stop!" Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. And Max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.'"
"Rodney. I think—" She is leaning over him, touching his face, which is cold for some reason. Wet. His body shakes. He knows this feeling. His breath comes fast, and he jerks his hands against the restraints, feels his body straining. He takes a deep breath and blinks up at her.
"John." She brushes her fingers over his cheeks within range of his teeth, but she doesn't smell of fear.
Of course she wouldn't. She's Teyla. Teyla isn't scared of anything.
Teyla. Rodney. Ronon.
He sighs and closes his eyes.
"More," he croaks.
His voice drops into a long silence, and he can hear them all smiling, and Ronon squeezes his foot, and Teyla's fingers close around his shoulder.
And then Rodney clears his throat and reads, "'The wild things cried, "Oh please don't go—we'll eat you up—we love you so!" And Max said, "No!" The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws, but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye, and sailed back over a year, and in and out of weeks, and through a day, and into the night of his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him.
"'And it was still hot.'"
John smiles.
"'The end.'"
Quotes from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
esteefeePairing: none. Team gen
Rating: PG
Words: 1,263
Categories: h/c
Warnings: Implied violence to a small furry creature.
Spoilers: Conversion
A/N: Little experimental; sorry about that.
Wild Thing
by esteefee
There's too much light—too bright, hurts—and it wants to make the room dark, but nothing listens. It remembers a time when everything listened and obeyed.
It chitters its pain but can't cover its eyes; its limbs are bound with straps.
An Other comes in carrying food it cannot eat, and holds the food to its mouth. It snaps in anger. This is not food. Food is—it strains upward toward the Other's throat, and the Other backs away smelling of fear.
It whines with frustration and turns its head as far as it can from the too bright light.
:::
Another Other, this one smelling of strength and blood, looms by the bottom of its nest-bed. The Other touches its foot, and it twitches in fear. This Other makes sounds, irritatingly familiar but not understandable.
"We're here, Sheppard. We brought you something you should be able to eat."
It senses more Others, two more, one carrying food, real food—a small, struggling beast it remembers somehow, it remembers grasping the beast and wrapping its tail around a panicked throat—
But it has no tail, and cannot move its limbs.
"This is beyond ridiculous."
"I tracked Ellia, McKay. I know what he needs."
The Other holds the beast close, and it wastes no time sinking its teeth into the soft throat.
"Ewww. Jesus Christ that is disgusting. He'd better start changing back soon, because that is just too much."
"He cannot help himself, Rodney."
As it drinks down the last drops of sweet-hot-life, the beast kicks feebly and then shudders to stillness.
:::
Me. This is me. It still can't open its eyes, but it frowns when thought intrudes, almost as painfully sharp as the glowing lights. I'm alive. Why didn't they kill me? The thought is gone, slipping beneath the comforting fog, and it sighs and shifts, pulling at the straps holding it. It itches, skin-itch, and deeper. It clenches its claws and feels bright pain and heat flowing.
"Colonel! Stop that!"
It feels an Other cleaning the blood from its claw-hands, and smells something strange, biting its nostrils, stinging its palms. It snarls and jerks, but there is no escape, and now softness webs its claw-hands, making them useless.
It would strike/slash/kill but for the straps and webs holding it impotent.
When the Others bring it food, this time it turns away.
:::
"Brought you something." It is the large Other, the one who smells of blood and iron. The Other releases its claw-hand and slips something over it, something soft. It lifts its wrist up to its face so it can smell the thing. This thing belongs to it. It knows this, feels it around its wrist, soft and strong.
The thing is important. It tries to remember why.
The Other makes noises, "Sorry, Doc says I gotta..." and binds its hand again. Still, it feels better now, with the thing on its wrist soft underneath the binding.
It makes a song of thanks, but the Other doesn't seem to understand.
:::
One of the others is making song-noises. It listens idly, washes of understanding like dawn-bright colors.
"'And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws...'"
"What is this you're reading, Rodney?" The soft-voiced Other on its left. She, it remembers.
Today it can think more clearly, darting thoughts between the mists.
"It's a children's book about monsters. I just thought...considering...well, look at him. Really. And I loved this book when I was a kid. See, Max is bad, and his horrible mother punishes him by sending him to bed without dinner, and he goes on this adventure where he meets these wild things—actually, they kind of remind me of you, Conan—"
It hears a noise, like a growl, from below.
"—or, maybe not. And look at the claws on this one right here—you have to admit it kind of looks like...well."
A cough, and then the voice-song-sounds continue, familiar, strangely soothing. Almost, it understands.
"'...till Max said "BE STILL!" and tamed them with a magic trick.' Terrific illustration, don't you think?"
"It reminds me of a story Charrin used to tell me, as well." The she makes a soft and rippling sound, pleasant, and it rolls its head, squinting against the light. Trying to see. If it could see, maybe it could understand. It thinks it can almost understand.
"John?"
John. It knows that sound. And that soft voice. Needed. Something touches its arm, also soft, pressing against itching skin, and it shivers with a strange yearning.
"Rodney," the she sounds excited, "keep reading."
"'...a magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once, and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all.'"
It makes a sound, soft and rasping, and feels a touch again, squeezing its arm.
"Well, what do you know, he likes it. Hey, Sheppard."
It does like it. The soft touch, and the voices. Sheppard. I'm Sheppard. The thought comes clear, but not as painful this time, and he makes a questioning trill.
"I think he wishes you to read some more."
"'...and they made him king of all wild things. 'And now,' cried Max, 'let the wild rumpus start!'"
The she makes a clapping sound. He blinks his eyes open and cringes at the light, then forces them open again, needing to see.
"These infernal infirmary spotlights are too bright for him. You'd think Carson would've—" There is a sound of feet, and then finally, finally the painful shards of light stop stabbing at his eyes, and he opens them fully, letting them dilate.
The she on his left glows softly with health and young blood. The tall one at the bottom is leaning forward. The he on the right is holding something square, and staring at him.
"Is that better?"
The pain is gone. He trills softly in gratitude.
The he—Rodney, his mind whispers, that's Rodney—squints down at the...book. He's reading a book.
"'"Now stop!" Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. And Max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.'"
"Rodney. I think—" She is leaning over him, touching his face, which is cold for some reason. Wet. His body shakes. He knows this feeling. His breath comes fast, and he jerks his hands against the restraints, feels his body straining. He takes a deep breath and blinks up at her.
"John." She brushes her fingers over his cheeks within range of his teeth, but she doesn't smell of fear.
Of course she wouldn't. She's Teyla. Teyla isn't scared of anything.
Teyla. Rodney. Ronon.
He sighs and closes his eyes.
"More," he croaks.
His voice drops into a long silence, and he can hear them all smiling, and Ronon squeezes his foot, and Teyla's fingers close around his shoulder.
And then Rodney clears his throat and reads, "'The wild things cried, "Oh please don't go—we'll eat you up—we love you so!" And Max said, "No!" The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws, but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye, and sailed back over a year, and in and out of weeks, and through a day, and into the night of his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him.
"'And it was still hot.'"
John smiles.
"'The end.'"
Quotes from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 04:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 04:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 04:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 04:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 04:37 am (UTC)Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 04:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-05-09 06:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 07:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 07:43 pm (UTC)WELL DONE!
Date: 2009-05-09 08:51 am (UTC)I love the way you wrote this. I also love the transition.
Well written and very enjoyable!
Re: WELL DONE!
Date: 2009-05-09 07:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 11:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 07:49 pm (UTC)(this year's bumpersticker.)
Thanks, gaffsie!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 11:21 am (UTC)"More," he croaks.
And I might possibly have that book memorized.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 07:54 pm (UTC):))))) I took a total wrong turn writing this at one point earlier, and had to stop and backtrack, but when I did, it just rolled out like a little carpet right to the "More" line. I swear, I don't understand how writing works. Anyone who does it for a living has my admiration at their a) sheer balls or b) utter brilliance, because it's all just a huge mystery that it ever works at all.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 12:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 08:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 12:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 08:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 12:40 pm (UTC)This is a lovely, artful blend of the two - I think you did it just right.
(And if John is Max from the Wild Things, don't you think Rodney is the boy from The Night Kitchen?)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 08:09 pm (UTC)And I can totally see what you're saying about the show being one big WtWTA. If I were an illustrator I would have serious fun with that image. :)
Thanks, beachlass.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 01:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-05-09 08:16 pm (UTC)Me, too: adored this book, and insouciant Max. Thanks, vita!
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Date: 2009-05-09 10:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-05-09 10:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-10 07:25 am (UTC)