I've got it under control!

As usual, something from nothing. :D



"You are not enjoying the dances, Colonel?"

John looked over at Teyla, then back at the whirling, stomping mass of people and shrugged.

"I don't know. I just - mating dances. It's like something you'd see in a nature documentary, or something. I don't see how that's gonna help you pick your partner."

"I believe it tells you many things." Teyla's voice was steady and even, but John could tell she was a little pissed. "It shows coordination and teamwork, strength and skill, all traits of a fine hunter who will bring much to the home. Then there are - " she pointed at one dancer, at the subtle differences in the way he was moving - "choices that show appreciation for beauty, something of the dancer themself. And of course," She smiled, a small secretive smile, and John went back to watching the dancers again, "it shows much of a person's stamina. I met Kanaan at a celebration such as this."

"Well that's - I mean, that's great for you guys." John shifted, and an awkward silence fell between them for a few moments.

"You must remind me," Teyla eventually said, her face hard to read in the flickering golden firelight, "of your mating rituals on Earth."

John looked at her, surprised.

"Well we - we go to the movies, or dinner, or - I don't know, college football games maybe. And then I guess you, y'know," he shrugged and ducked his head a little, hoping the dim light would hide the slight flush, "sleep together, see if you're compatible. See what works."

Teyla studied his face for a moment.

"So you exchange your - money? - for a demonstration of the prowess of others, in situations that are not best suited for sociable conversation." She smiled slightly, one-sided, and looked back towards the dancers. "I see how I was mistaken. Clearly your ways are more suited to finding love." A quick sidelong glance. "I must ask Rodney to explain 'divorce rates' to me again."

For foreverdirt mostly, I think.



Zelenka crooned to it softly in Czech as he worked, but commentary was in English - this was traditional working formula while in the labs and maintained even when everyone else had found other places to be. (Orders barked in Czech did little but intimidate scientists further, he had found; this was sometimes, of course, the point.)

"Possibly," he told it, "you are in need of panel beating, but I suspect dents and rust are all that holds you together. We will do what we can."

Stargate team 38 had found it on a desert planet, unusual energy readings and glint of metal in the sun. (It is true that there were unlikely to be thirty eight teams in Atlantis, but Radek considered the number unimportant. It was a team with two marines, linguist, botanist; the number was no doubt almost so high.) They had brought it back, a curiosity, and Radek had of course berated them for carelessness - for who knew what it was - even as he had started to assess damage, hypothesise possibilities for use.

It had become easier when metal had cooled after long term exposure to sun, when he had been able to brush away caked sand and observe structure; long after others had left the lab, which was a blessing. After seeing the shape, Colonel Sheppard would not have been pried away from lab with even Archimedes' lever. But he had been left alone with (yes) robot, and with his head inside the casing his songs had even more pleasing harmonics than the restroom two floors above the infirmary.

There was much work to be done if he was to fix it, and he was too tired to do more than simplistic repairs, but he could not rest until something was done, at least.

"Žijeme," he sang, as he started to replace the diodes down the left side, "Žijeme v hotelu Zlomených srdcí!"

(Unregarded circuits, deep inside Marvin's processors, flickered happily to life and started to hum.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY schiarire!


On the occasion of your birthday, Ji, my dear, I have (omg shock horror and gasp) Written Fic.

Please to be keeping in mind that I am more than a little sleep deprived, it hasn't been beta'd (it has now been checked for spelling and suchlike by copinggoggles, thank you dear), and I can't find my copy of Lamb, okay? *grins*


Er... Good Omens/Lamb crossover, for anyone that's interested. PG-13 for implied A/C, I guess?

( Story for Ji )

For vimeslady. I'm just making this up and typing it directly into the box, so please excuse any mistakes. I'm reading Maskerade. Can you tell?




"Have you ever seen Iodine, gentlemen?" The Patrician's voice was pleasant enough, and really shouldn't have prompted quite such nervous looks between the Klatchian ambassador and his attaché. Perhaps it was Vimes, sitting in the corner and rather ostentatiously polishing his sword- the man really had no sense of subtlety. Vetinari smiled, thinly, and their nervousness appeared to increase tenfold.

"But of course." The man's voice wasn't shaking. With a bit more practice, he'd learn to conceal the effort that had cost him, as well.

"Then, naturally, you must be familiar with the climax. When the villain is attempting to convince the innocent Iodine to consume the poison and cause her own death, having cunningly hidden the canker within the rose, as it were." He shuffled the papers they'd handed him and they watched his hands, hypnotised. "No mi quiero verde huevos y jamón-" he saw Vimes' think for a moment, then the man's mouth dropped open. He steadfastly ignored it. "No mi quiero ellos, soySam." And now the man was laughing silently, shoulders shaking helplessly. Vetinari steadfastly kept his gaze on the two men in front of him.

"What do you-"

"The terms you have proposed are unacceptable. Sugar coating does not disguise anything." He raised one eyebrow. "No mi quiero ellos, gentlemen."

He managed to wait until the two of them had been ushered out before he turned his cool gaze on Vimes, who seemed to have managed to control himself.

"Thank you, your grace. Your contribution was incalculable. However, I'm sure that discussions can continue without your presence, from now on."

Vimes didn't glare, which was something of a character departure. "So that's opera, is it?"

"So it would seem."

"Singing about food?"

"When it's not about drinking-"

"Which you've never understood."

"-which, I will admit, I have never seen the appeal in, about death-"

"Which you have."

He didn't answer, just sent a look Vimes' way that made the man stand to attention, his eyes snapping up and to the right, staring somewhere above his head. He vaguely wondered what his expression had shown.

"Or about sex, of course."

It was quite amusing watching the struggle between Vimes' need to have the last word and his sense of self preservation. He had considerable difficulty preventing himself from laughing.




There. I don't know what it is- just a scene snippet, not even a vignette. Randomness. *shrugs* Hope you like it. *g*

So it would appear that the consensus is that I should get rid of my seekrit journal and post my rubbish here. Thing is, none of it's finished, as yet. And much of it is of questionable quality. And there are some *seriously* dubious crossovers. (Due South/Discworld? The hell was I thinking?). So I'll see what I can salvage. *g* In the meantime, here's a tiny snippet of a gen Discfic I was working on.

( Tuesday )