Entry tags:
The pre-coffee ontological debate (John, Rodney; ridiculous)
This is just silly. I'm not sure if it qualifies as ontology per se, but it sounds impressive, doesn't it? :>
Instigated by two people who know exactly who they are.
The Pre-Coffee Ontological Debate
"You'd make a great scone," John says after he finishes swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "You know, with raspberry jam and lemon curd..."
"Have you had high tea with the Queen, Sheppard?" Rodney saws at his piece of yak-thing-bacon. "And there's no way you'd put lemon curd on me. I'm allergic."
"You wouldn't be allergic if you were a scone."
"I totally would!" Rodney viciously chews his yak bacon, swallows, and chases it with a gulp of coffee. "It's a well-known fact that, whenever someone's transformed, while their shape changes, inherent genetic and physical infirmities remain. Because my citrus allergy is an inherent physical trait, even in my scone form I'd be allergic to lemon curd." He pauses. "What the hell kind of superpower is that, transforming into a breakfast pastry? And why the hell are we talking about this anyway?"
"You're assuming I'm talking about transformation." It's almost criminally easy, really, stringing a pre-coffee Rodney along on these kinds of conversations.
"So... you're saying I was born as a scone."
"Yup."
"Ha!" Rodney bounces triumphantly. "Scones aren't born, they're mixed. From flour."
"If you're not born," John says, "you can't have allergies. Therefore, if you were mixed into being as a scone, you can't be allergic to lemon curd."
"But if I was... was mixed or whatever, I wouldn't be Rodney McKay."
John leans across the table, dips his index finger in Rodney's pudding, leans back again. Watches Rodney watch him as he licks the pudding off.
"Yeah," John agrees, giving his finger a final lick, "but you'd taste great with lemon curd."
And: CRUMPETS
Instigated by two people who know exactly who they are.
The Pre-Coffee Ontological Debate
"You'd make a great scone," John says after he finishes swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "You know, with raspberry jam and lemon curd..."
"Have you had high tea with the Queen, Sheppard?" Rodney saws at his piece of yak-thing-bacon. "And there's no way you'd put lemon curd on me. I'm allergic."
"You wouldn't be allergic if you were a scone."
"I totally would!" Rodney viciously chews his yak bacon, swallows, and chases it with a gulp of coffee. "It's a well-known fact that, whenever someone's transformed, while their shape changes, inherent genetic and physical infirmities remain. Because my citrus allergy is an inherent physical trait, even in my scone form I'd be allergic to lemon curd." He pauses. "What the hell kind of superpower is that, transforming into a breakfast pastry? And why the hell are we talking about this anyway?"
"You're assuming I'm talking about transformation." It's almost criminally easy, really, stringing a pre-coffee Rodney along on these kinds of conversations.
"So... you're saying I was born as a scone."
"Yup."
"Ha!" Rodney bounces triumphantly. "Scones aren't born, they're mixed. From flour."
"If you're not born," John says, "you can't have allergies. Therefore, if you were mixed into being as a scone, you can't be allergic to lemon curd."
"But if I was... was mixed or whatever, I wouldn't be Rodney McKay."
John leans across the table, dips his index finger in Rodney's pudding, leans back again. Watches Rodney watch him as he licks the pudding off.
"Yeah," John agrees, giving his finger a final lick, "but you'd taste great with lemon curd."
And: CRUMPETS
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Mind you, the power to transform into a breakfast pastry might come in handy under certain circumstances...
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Now I'm imagining Rodney trapped and alone on a Wraith ship transforming into a scone to save himself, because Wraith don't like scones, and then when the big rescue arrives, all John has to do is stick Rodney in his tac vest pocket (without crumbling him, of course; that would be bad).
...
I cannot believe I just thought of that.
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What if, through sheer nervous exhaustion, Rodney failed to transform back - would there be a plateside vigil in the infirmary with John gently stroking his surface and whispering encouragement?
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"I know you can't hear me, Rodney," John whispered, carefully stroking Rodney's surface, "but I want you to know, I'm here for you, buddy."
This mental picture was... possibly one of the most bizzare I have ever had. Ever.
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:D Chocolate, caffiene, and salt: the breakfast of physicists.
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Which then led to remembering how easy it is to yank Rodney's chain when he hasn't had his coffee, and how cute Rodney is when he's confused/flustered/falling all over himself :D
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Oh Rodney. You're not winning, honey.
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Hee! Poor Rodney, about to have his illusions of victory shattered.
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Though you dragging the queen into all of this put some images in my head I'm not sure how I feel about. I do know that I agree with John that Rodney is quite edible no matter in what form.
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I'm convinced that the only reason why some things haven't been done in SGA fanfic is that people haven't thought them up yet. The second someone says, "Hey, you know what would be cool?..." that's it :>
I do know that I agree with John that Rodney is quite edible no matter in what form.
I approve of this.
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choke, cough... I'll have you know that I almost blew my own tea all over my poor defenseless keyboard on that one... hack, sputter...
those are silly silly boys you write... and I *love* them...
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(not that loathsome deadly look she gave Shrub some months back)
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(in all senses)
i've never had a comment!fic in response to my crumpety comments.
Sheppard would be a biscuit with devonshire cream and honey.
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Waaaant.
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John and Rodney having their breakfast together, yummi ! :)
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