Payback the Second
Jan. 19th, 2006 04:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowThis is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deani_bean, maker of my other lovely icon. She wanted Stargate, and jello. This is season 9 and it's utter silliness and owes a substantial debt to fbf for the visual inspiration.
Kraftwork
There's a weird little party going on under the fluorescent lights of the base's main kitchen.
Jackson's got his glasses on, a pile of books surrounding him like a barricade and Corporal Perez is slunk down low in a high backed chair, booted feet propped upon the stainless steel counters.
Vala's hair is pulled back in two girlish pigtails, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her teeth as she works. Her skin is luminescent under the lights, and she balances delicately on the metal stool, leaning over a large cookie sheet, pressing something against the contents of the pan.
Nearly midnight and all of them should have been in bed. At this point, Mitchell doesn't care whose bed as long as it's someone's bed and not his bed. Which he'd like to be in. But he's not. Instead, he's standing in a nearly empty kitchen with the hum of giant refrigerators playing his own personal soundtrack, staring at a report that reads like a bad joke.
"Um, Corporal?"
The young man, shifts his cap back on his head, takes a good look at Mitchell and hops to his feet, nearly knocking the long legged chair on to its side. He tries to salute and grab the chair at the same time and Mitchell waves him down.
"At ease, Perez."
"Um, Colonel, sir. Yes sir."
His dark eyes flash over to Vala, who has stopped what she's doing, and looks up at him with bright, inquisitive eyes. She sits back on her own high backed stool, puts down the tool she's holding and rests folded hands primly in her lap.
Jackson doesn't look up, keeps reading, or faking it, Mitchell's never quite sure which and frankly it doesn't matter much. The man's determined to be inscrutable. But tonight, the good doctor's not Mitchell's problem.
"Corporal, I've got a report here that I think you might be able to help me untangle."
Perez gives him a blank look and no wonder. The kid's not assigned to the Stargate project, except peripherally. He's got clearance that allows him into the mess and into Radar's pen and that's about it. It's possible he doesn't even know that Vala Mal Doran is an alien.
"This is a budget report, Corporal," Mitchell says with a sigh, flapping the manila folder at the kid. "Handed to me because apparently this mess is related to my budget. And after hours going through it, hours and hours, I finally tracked down the budgetary excess to… here."
The kid shifts nervously, weight going from one foot to another.
"We're all tightening our belts around here, and maybe word didn't make it down this far," he says, trying for kind because odds are the kid was just following orders, getting supplies in the same way and from the same people the Air Force had always gotten rations from.
"Sir, I, uh… I'm confused, sir."
Mitchell scrubs at his eyes. He's not the only one.
"Supply manifests suggest that this particular kitchen is going through far more powdered jello than any other comparable unit."
That catches Jackson's ear. He looks up, cocking his head. "There are other comparable units?"
Vala snorts, indelicate, unladylike, then claps her hands to her mouth. Jackson glares at her. "I will conveniently lose those DVD's," he threatens.
She sticks out her tongue at him, and tosses her hair. It's a command performance. Mitchell clears his throat, and she raises an arched brow at him. "He's too afraid to hide them," she says to Mitchell. "He likes Beavis as much as I do. Although he's far, far more like Stuart."
That throws Mitchell off guard. "You bought her Beavis and Butthead?"
Jackson purses his mouth. "They stopped showing them on MTV2 and it was on sale. She and Teal'c watch during lunch. It gives me a break."
And here he'd thought this whole inquiry couldn't get any weirder. Perez was still stiff as a board, waiting for his CO to arrive at a conclusion or ask a question or sentence him to some humiliating duty.
Mitchell just sighs, scrubs at the back of his neck. "Corporal Perez. What the hell is happening to all the jello?"
The kid licks his lips, eyes flicking over to Vala who is still snickering to herself and has returned to her work.
"Well, sir, we got too much, and then no one changed the manifests, and really it's only Colonel Carter who will eat the blue jello. All the other guys, especially those who've gone…" the kid gulps, and Mitchell figures his security clearance is higher than he anticipated. "They mostly like food that's food colored. Even jello."
"And..." Mitchell encourages, waving his hand in a rolling, lets get on with it motion. Perez takes a deep breath.
"She likes it." He jerks his thumb at Vala, and his mouth turns up softly. Oh Christ. No wonder.
"It's like skin," she says, fixing Mitchell with a look. "Well, it's slimier, but it's sort of like skin and you can make it into shapes and patterns."
He knows he's going to regret asking it. Knows it before Jackson mutters, "Don't ask."
"Like… what, exactly?"
Vala puts down the instrument that he's finally identified as a cookie cutter and fishes around on the tray in front of her, holding up a dangling shape. Mitchell cocks his head to the side, and then blushes like a school boy. "Is that…?"
She nods vigorously. "Believe it or not, there are species out there whose genitalia comes in this color." She grins. "Well they don't actually come in this color, although perhaps some of them do, my experience isn't all encompassing, but their skin in that region…"
"Enough!" He might have raised his voice a little, but he was too tired for this torture in terminology.
Jackson doesn't look up form his reading. "Gives a whole new meaning to the term blue balls, doesn't it." It's dead pan, flat affect.
Mitchell stares at the other man, opened mouthed, then starts to laugh, shocked at himself, at all of them. He laughs so hard he has to bend at the knees. Crazy alien preachers, schemes and scams and people joined at the neurons, whole new worlds to see and he finds himself in a kitchen full of bad puns, busy work and occupational hazards. Just another day on the job, he thinks.
"So, where the hell did you get the uh, cookie cutters? They have those on sale too?"
Perez interrupts him, tan cheeks a dark, dusky crimson. "I gotta bunch of sisters, sir. The oldest one's in the Army. My mom sent us home with care packages, musta got 'em mixed up and my roommates got hold of those…" he waves at the cookie cutter, "before I could throw 'em away or send 'em back."
Mitchell's shaking his head. "What, uh, what happens to all of the jello penii," he asks,"after…" He's pretty sure he doesn't want to know how the cookie cutters got from Perez's roommates' hands to Vala's.
"I take 'em home on the weekend, give 'em to my sisters," he says, still blushing, looking at his shoes. "Couple of 'em work down at Memorial Hospital. They take 'em to work."
O'Neill had never mentioned this kind of thing – budget snafus, supply issues, things being charged to his department that came down to blue gelatin genitalia. He'd sent him little notes, e-mail on Jaffa and symbiotes and bad cultural choices and doing your homework and bringing a lunch and a lot of sunscreen. But he'd never mentioned anything like this. O'Neill was an evil sonofabitch with a sick sense of humor.
"Any chance of overnighting a bunch of those to D.C.?" Mitchell asks.
Vala tilts her mouth, smile wicked and seductive. "Javiar makes a mean brownie," she says. "That may be a better option." Jackson sniggers in the background.
"Cancel the jello order," Mitchell says, "And for the love of god, make sure that none of those get served to the public. I'm not canceling an order of cartridges just so she can make naughty jello bits."
"Yes, sir."
Mitchell turns to go.
"It's only going to get stranger from here on out," Daniel says behind him, voice thready with amusement.
"Yeah," Mitchell says and leaves them to it. "I thought you might say that."
deani_bean, maker of my other lovely icon. She wanted Stargate, and jello. This is season 9 and it's utter silliness and owes a substantial debt to fbf for the visual inspiration.Kraftwork
There's a weird little party going on under the fluorescent lights of the base's main kitchen.
Jackson's got his glasses on, a pile of books surrounding him like a barricade and Corporal Perez is slunk down low in a high backed chair, booted feet propped upon the stainless steel counters.
Vala's hair is pulled back in two girlish pigtails, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her teeth as she works. Her skin is luminescent under the lights, and she balances delicately on the metal stool, leaning over a large cookie sheet, pressing something against the contents of the pan.
Nearly midnight and all of them should have been in bed. At this point, Mitchell doesn't care whose bed as long as it's someone's bed and not his bed. Which he'd like to be in. But he's not. Instead, he's standing in a nearly empty kitchen with the hum of giant refrigerators playing his own personal soundtrack, staring at a report that reads like a bad joke.
"Um, Corporal?"
The young man, shifts his cap back on his head, takes a good look at Mitchell and hops to his feet, nearly knocking the long legged chair on to its side. He tries to salute and grab the chair at the same time and Mitchell waves him down.
"At ease, Perez."
"Um, Colonel, sir. Yes sir."
His dark eyes flash over to Vala, who has stopped what she's doing, and looks up at him with bright, inquisitive eyes. She sits back on her own high backed stool, puts down the tool she's holding and rests folded hands primly in her lap.
Jackson doesn't look up, keeps reading, or faking it, Mitchell's never quite sure which and frankly it doesn't matter much. The man's determined to be inscrutable. But tonight, the good doctor's not Mitchell's problem.
"Corporal, I've got a report here that I think you might be able to help me untangle."
Perez gives him a blank look and no wonder. The kid's not assigned to the Stargate project, except peripherally. He's got clearance that allows him into the mess and into Radar's pen and that's about it. It's possible he doesn't even know that Vala Mal Doran is an alien.
"This is a budget report, Corporal," Mitchell says with a sigh, flapping the manila folder at the kid. "Handed to me because apparently this mess is related to my budget. And after hours going through it, hours and hours, I finally tracked down the budgetary excess to… here."
The kid shifts nervously, weight going from one foot to another.
"We're all tightening our belts around here, and maybe word didn't make it down this far," he says, trying for kind because odds are the kid was just following orders, getting supplies in the same way and from the same people the Air Force had always gotten rations from.
"Sir, I, uh… I'm confused, sir."
Mitchell scrubs at his eyes. He's not the only one.
"Supply manifests suggest that this particular kitchen is going through far more powdered jello than any other comparable unit."
That catches Jackson's ear. He looks up, cocking his head. "There are other comparable units?"
Vala snorts, indelicate, unladylike, then claps her hands to her mouth. Jackson glares at her. "I will conveniently lose those DVD's," he threatens.
She sticks out her tongue at him, and tosses her hair. It's a command performance. Mitchell clears his throat, and she raises an arched brow at him. "He's too afraid to hide them," she says to Mitchell. "He likes Beavis as much as I do. Although he's far, far more like Stuart."
That throws Mitchell off guard. "You bought her Beavis and Butthead?"
Jackson purses his mouth. "They stopped showing them on MTV2 and it was on sale. She and Teal'c watch during lunch. It gives me a break."
And here he'd thought this whole inquiry couldn't get any weirder. Perez was still stiff as a board, waiting for his CO to arrive at a conclusion or ask a question or sentence him to some humiliating duty.
Mitchell just sighs, scrubs at the back of his neck. "Corporal Perez. What the hell is happening to all the jello?"
The kid licks his lips, eyes flicking over to Vala who is still snickering to herself and has returned to her work.
"Well, sir, we got too much, and then no one changed the manifests, and really it's only Colonel Carter who will eat the blue jello. All the other guys, especially those who've gone…" the kid gulps, and Mitchell figures his security clearance is higher than he anticipated. "They mostly like food that's food colored. Even jello."
"And..." Mitchell encourages, waving his hand in a rolling, lets get on with it motion. Perez takes a deep breath.
"She likes it." He jerks his thumb at Vala, and his mouth turns up softly. Oh Christ. No wonder.
"It's like skin," she says, fixing Mitchell with a look. "Well, it's slimier, but it's sort of like skin and you can make it into shapes and patterns."
He knows he's going to regret asking it. Knows it before Jackson mutters, "Don't ask."
"Like… what, exactly?"
Vala puts down the instrument that he's finally identified as a cookie cutter and fishes around on the tray in front of her, holding up a dangling shape. Mitchell cocks his head to the side, and then blushes like a school boy. "Is that…?"
She nods vigorously. "Believe it or not, there are species out there whose genitalia comes in this color." She grins. "Well they don't actually come in this color, although perhaps some of them do, my experience isn't all encompassing, but their skin in that region…"
"Enough!" He might have raised his voice a little, but he was too tired for this torture in terminology.
Jackson doesn't look up form his reading. "Gives a whole new meaning to the term blue balls, doesn't it." It's dead pan, flat affect.
Mitchell stares at the other man, opened mouthed, then starts to laugh, shocked at himself, at all of them. He laughs so hard he has to bend at the knees. Crazy alien preachers, schemes and scams and people joined at the neurons, whole new worlds to see and he finds himself in a kitchen full of bad puns, busy work and occupational hazards. Just another day on the job, he thinks.
"So, where the hell did you get the uh, cookie cutters? They have those on sale too?"
Perez interrupts him, tan cheeks a dark, dusky crimson. "I gotta bunch of sisters, sir. The oldest one's in the Army. My mom sent us home with care packages, musta got 'em mixed up and my roommates got hold of those…" he waves at the cookie cutter, "before I could throw 'em away or send 'em back."
Mitchell's shaking his head. "What, uh, what happens to all of the jello penii," he asks,"after…" He's pretty sure he doesn't want to know how the cookie cutters got from Perez's roommates' hands to Vala's.
"I take 'em home on the weekend, give 'em to my sisters," he says, still blushing, looking at his shoes. "Couple of 'em work down at Memorial Hospital. They take 'em to work."
O'Neill had never mentioned this kind of thing – budget snafus, supply issues, things being charged to his department that came down to blue gelatin genitalia. He'd sent him little notes, e-mail on Jaffa and symbiotes and bad cultural choices and doing your homework and bringing a lunch and a lot of sunscreen. But he'd never mentioned anything like this. O'Neill was an evil sonofabitch with a sick sense of humor.
"Any chance of overnighting a bunch of those to D.C.?" Mitchell asks.
Vala tilts her mouth, smile wicked and seductive. "Javiar makes a mean brownie," she says. "That may be a better option." Jackson sniggers in the background.
"Cancel the jello order," Mitchell says, "And for the love of god, make sure that none of those get served to the public. I'm not canceling an order of cartridges just so she can make naughty jello bits."
"Yes, sir."
Mitchell turns to go.
"It's only going to get stranger from here on out," Daniel says behind him, voice thready with amusement.
"Yeah," Mitchell says and leaves them to it. "I thought you might say that."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 01:10 am (UTC)the image of vala and teal'c watching beavis an butthead slays me. and heh, daniel watching too. *veg*
bwahaha! " blue gelitan genitalia" cameron is so right about jack. and daniel is so right about how strange things are going to get. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 01:26 am (UTC)*bg*
See? this is the kind of thing that I truly believed happened. Strange requests and budget lines and odd, odd things that folks have to deal with.
*huggles the fic and you too*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 03:10 am (UTC)No matter what, it's better than stealing a tank and driving it through Colorado Springs (and yes, this happened when I was growing up. More than once).
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 01:56 am (UTC)Well, duh! *g*
Oh, I needed this. Thank you!
And Bwahahahaha!
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Date: 2006-01-20 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-01-20 08:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 09:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 04:11 pm (UTC)gives a whole 'nother dimension to "playing with your food" eh?!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 05:48 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-01-20 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 08:17 pm (UTC)And I think we all need a bit more Vala in our lives.
Thank you!
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Date: 2006-01-20 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-02-12 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-12 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-12 11:07 pm (UTC)I find myself completely unsurprised by what Vala's been up to. Cam should have been prepared!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-13 01:33 am (UTC)