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Evil library; McKay/Sheppard fic snippet
Apparently, I do research at home but play around in the library. This is inconvenient, because the rare books room doesn't like it when you even joke about absconding with their manuscripts so you can look at them over dinner.
*cough* Anyway, I doodled this for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sloganeer, who thinks that Rodney and John as roommates terrorizing the neighbors is cool, but that Rodney and John as neighbors terrorizing each other is also a very good idea. I happen to agree.
Rodney liked his neighborhood. Few small, obnoxious children, no crime, no evangelists, and a choice of coffee shops within a three-mile drive. Even better, his house had central air and heating, luxuries after spending most of his life in student apartments, and after he'd caught one of the teenaged boys down the street trying to TP his house, he'd blackmailed the little bastard into mowing his lawn for free for the rest of the kid's natural life.
When the Packards next door put their house up for sale, Rodney wasn't terribly upset because so far as he was concerned, the Packards were expendable as neighbors. Vern Packard thought Rodney was "European" because of the way he pronounced been and rounded his o's and Nora Packard kept trying to feed him poison in the shape of lemon bars.
The house sold quickly, and within a few weeks a rented moving van with a battered black pick-up in tow, pulled into the front drive. Rodney watched this from behind drawn shades and then retreated to his study, tucked safely away in the back. No way was someone going to ask him to do the good neighbor thing and help the new person move in furniture they should have had the good sense to hire a moving company to take care of for them.
He kept tabs on new neighbor's progress throughout the day, noting that a surprising number of women had turned up among the men who'd come to volunteer. Women and girls, a whole knot of high schoolers and a few local college students clustered by the pickup.
"Oh my God," was Rodney's verdict, and he went back to his work. He stayed hunched over his laptop for the rest of the day until his stomach issued its pre-dinner warning.
Inspecting the refrigerator and freezer and the deepest, darkest recesses of his pantry yielded nothing but coffee and cat food. Rodney debated between eating Planck's kibble and venturing out to the store for food, decided it was probably safe to go outside and not be accosted by anyone asking him to "meet the new neighbors!" and "could you help with that box of completely random and pointless crap?"
Most of the crowd had thinned out, though a few high schoolers still lingered in the Updikes' yard across the street, and Rodney watched covertly as the new neighbor wandered down his drive to lock the van up for the night.
Oh my God. New neighbor stretched to grab the latch of the sliding door and pull it down, belly flattening under his t-shirt and jeans riding down his hips, and for a moment Rodney briefly regretted his bad back and the necessity of avoiding unnecessary physical labor.
He was so caught up in studying new neighbor as he fiddled with the lock and persuaded it to snap shut that he didn't immediately register, 1) the fact that new neighbor was apparently looking at Rodney looking at him, and 2) the fact that really horrible, unbearable country music was blaring out of new neighbor's garage.
Rodney was willing to forgive a lot in the name of low-riding jeans and elastic spines, but country music didn't make the list. He scowled.
*cough* Anyway, I doodled this for
sloganeer, who thinks that Rodney and John as roommates terrorizing the neighbors is cool, but that Rodney and John as neighbors terrorizing each other is also a very good idea. I happen to agree.Rodney liked his neighborhood. Few small, obnoxious children, no crime, no evangelists, and a choice of coffee shops within a three-mile drive. Even better, his house had central air and heating, luxuries after spending most of his life in student apartments, and after he'd caught one of the teenaged boys down the street trying to TP his house, he'd blackmailed the little bastard into mowing his lawn for free for the rest of the kid's natural life.
When the Packards next door put their house up for sale, Rodney wasn't terribly upset because so far as he was concerned, the Packards were expendable as neighbors. Vern Packard thought Rodney was "European" because of the way he pronounced been and rounded his o's and Nora Packard kept trying to feed him poison in the shape of lemon bars.
The house sold quickly, and within a few weeks a rented moving van with a battered black pick-up in tow, pulled into the front drive. Rodney watched this from behind drawn shades and then retreated to his study, tucked safely away in the back. No way was someone going to ask him to do the good neighbor thing and help the new person move in furniture they should have had the good sense to hire a moving company to take care of for them.
He kept tabs on new neighbor's progress throughout the day, noting that a surprising number of women had turned up among the men who'd come to volunteer. Women and girls, a whole knot of high schoolers and a few local college students clustered by the pickup.
"Oh my God," was Rodney's verdict, and he went back to his work. He stayed hunched over his laptop for the rest of the day until his stomach issued its pre-dinner warning.
Inspecting the refrigerator and freezer and the deepest, darkest recesses of his pantry yielded nothing but coffee and cat food. Rodney debated between eating Planck's kibble and venturing out to the store for food, decided it was probably safe to go outside and not be accosted by anyone asking him to "meet the new neighbors!" and "could you help with that box of completely random and pointless crap?"
Most of the crowd had thinned out, though a few high schoolers still lingered in the Updikes' yard across the street, and Rodney watched covertly as the new neighbor wandered down his drive to lock the van up for the night.
Oh my God. New neighbor stretched to grab the latch of the sliding door and pull it down, belly flattening under his t-shirt and jeans riding down his hips, and for a moment Rodney briefly regretted his bad back and the necessity of avoiding unnecessary physical labor.
He was so caught up in studying new neighbor as he fiddled with the lock and persuaded it to snap shut that he didn't immediately register, 1) the fact that new neighbor was apparently looking at Rodney looking at him, and 2) the fact that really horrible, unbearable country music was blaring out of new neighbor's garage.
Rodney was willing to forgive a lot in the name of low-riding jeans and elastic spines, but country music didn't make the list. He scowled.
no subject
If they don't kill each other first ;)