![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cinaed...So not my fault. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
astral_angel made an icon with McKay and the kiddies from "Childhood's End" and dubbed him Dr. Pied Piper and.... Though astral_angel doesn't even know me, I still blame her for this.
And my god, Rodney would make the worst pied piper ever. He'd...leave the children on the side of the road. Or at least try to.
The Unfortunate Pied Piper -- snippet, WIP
They gazed at him adoringly, all rosy-cheeked, the epitome of beautiful, perfect children. The awe-struck smiles made their sparkling eyes gleam even brighter, and each of the eight children had impossibly perfect teeth, like pearls.
"For the love of God," Rodney said wearily, "won’t you all please go back to your homes?"
A chorus of giggles was the only response to his plea, but Rodney was too tired to cringe, as he had every time before. Instead he sighed, rubbed at his face, and said, "Really. Your parents are probably wondering what happened to you all. Or they're putting up signs with my picture on them, making me out to be a kidnapper and are looking to lynch me. Probably the latter, knowing my luck."
One of the smallest children smiled at him, all rosy cheeks and twinkling blue eyes. "I'm hungwy," she declared, and Rodney stared.
"Well, deal with it. I'm not feeding you all. Do I look like your parents? Given, I'm probably old enough to be your father, but that's not the point, because your town is stuck in the Dark Ages and it seemed like everyone got married at thirteen there, so it's not like I'm old or anything, and-- you know what? Forget it. Go home. Get lost. Tell your parents I didn't steal you so they don't want my head on a platter."
"I'm hungwy," the little girl repeated, and though her smile hadn't dimmed in the slightest, a hard edge had crept into her voice. "I want food. Mommy always makes me soup. Make us soup. Now."
"Look, I'm not making you soup!"
"Now," the little girl said, and there was a definite growl in her voice.
Rodney squinted suspiciously at her. "Are you...trying to threaten me?" When she just offered him another angelic smile, he scowled. "Even if I was a bit unnerved by that threat -- which I wasn't, mind you, because I'm not scared of a four-year-old -- I can't cook. At all. You wouldn't like my soup."
One of the boys tilted his head and eyed him. "You hafta be a good cook. Otherwise you'd be skinny, and you're not."
Now Rodney squinted suspiciously at the boy, suspecting he'd just been called fat. "I told you, I can't cook! Besides, you all have mothers waiting at home to give you soup and whatever the hell children eat. Go home, to them."
"I don't have a mommy," one of the children -- Rodney couldn't tell which one, but it sounded like a little girl -- interjected, tone pitiful, and Rodney wondered if it meant an instant ticket to Hell that he thought she was lying.
"Yes, well, then you can go with one of the other children and their mother will make you soup. See how that works? Now, shoo. All of you." He flapped his hands at them, and sighed when none of them budged. "Please?"
"Soup," the little girl said, slowly and dangerously, and Rodney wished he'd never, ever heard of the stupid town called Hamelin.
*
The door to the tavern opened, and John looked up, grinning at the familiar sight of a darkly scowling Rodney McKay. "Hey, McKay, where have you--" He stopped and stared as a horde of children skipped in after the man, and then began to smirk. "Uh, so, McKay, do you have something you’d like to share?"
Rodney glared at him and made his way to his usual seat, muttering something about stupid barkeeps who think they’re hilarious and stupid children who are...stupid. He was apparently ignoring his little entourage, even as they clustered around his chair and gazed at the insides of the tavern with wide, curious eyes.
"Your usual?" John drawled, polishing a glass and wondering how long it would take his father to realize there were children inside his tavern and how badly the senior Sheppard would terrorize them. Actually, that was probably Rodney's plan all along, judging by the way Rodney's eyes kept going hopefully to the stairs, which led up to the bedrooms.
"Something stronger," Rodney said bitterly. "This will probably be my last drink, seeing as these miserable urchins are going to get me killed." He glared down at the nearest child, who beamed back and looked painfully adorable with a smudge on her tiny, freckled nose.
"And where did these children come from again?" John asked, even as he poured Rodney the strongest liquor they had to offer.
"Hamelin," was the gloomy answer.
John blinked. "That rat-infested town two hamlets over? What were you doing there?"
"An experiment," Rodney continued in the same gloomy tone. "I theorized that if I played a pipe at a certain volume and pitch, it would affect the thinking processes of small creatures." He brightened for a moment. "It worked, too. I managed to drive all the rats out of the town. Of course, the idiots in Hamelin kept telling me to drive the rats into the river, when everyone knows rats can swim, so I drove them over a nearby cliff instead."
Then his shoulders slumped, and he grabbed the mug John pushed towards him, cradling it to his chest almost desperately. "But apparently, small creatures like children can hear the noise too, but oddly, they liked the noise, and decided to follow me. And now they won't go away." Rodney paused, and glared at the children, all of whom just smiled.
John looked at the children, and counted eight. Three boys and five girls (though the smallest child could have been either gender, John really wasn't sure), all nestled at Rodney's feet. He couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. "You're such a charmer, McKay." Winking conspiratorially at the children, he asked, "You all hungry? I think I've got some soup left over from supper--"
"Soup!" one of the little girls shouted in a triumphant voice, and Rodney groaned and took a long, desperate swallow of his drink.
astral_angel made an icon with McKay and the kiddies from "Childhood's End" and dubbed him Dr. Pied Piper and.... Though astral_angel doesn't even know me, I still blame her for this. And my god, Rodney would make the worst pied piper ever. He'd...leave the children on the side of the road. Or at least try to.
The Unfortunate Pied Piper -- snippet, WIP
They gazed at him adoringly, all rosy-cheeked, the epitome of beautiful, perfect children. The awe-struck smiles made their sparkling eyes gleam even brighter, and each of the eight children had impossibly perfect teeth, like pearls.
"For the love of God," Rodney said wearily, "won’t you all please go back to your homes?"
A chorus of giggles was the only response to his plea, but Rodney was too tired to cringe, as he had every time before. Instead he sighed, rubbed at his face, and said, "Really. Your parents are probably wondering what happened to you all. Or they're putting up signs with my picture on them, making me out to be a kidnapper and are looking to lynch me. Probably the latter, knowing my luck."
One of the smallest children smiled at him, all rosy cheeks and twinkling blue eyes. "I'm hungwy," she declared, and Rodney stared.
"Well, deal with it. I'm not feeding you all. Do I look like your parents? Given, I'm probably old enough to be your father, but that's not the point, because your town is stuck in the Dark Ages and it seemed like everyone got married at thirteen there, so it's not like I'm old or anything, and-- you know what? Forget it. Go home. Get lost. Tell your parents I didn't steal you so they don't want my head on a platter."
"I'm hungwy," the little girl repeated, and though her smile hadn't dimmed in the slightest, a hard edge had crept into her voice. "I want food. Mommy always makes me soup. Make us soup. Now."
"Look, I'm not making you soup!"
"Now," the little girl said, and there was a definite growl in her voice.
Rodney squinted suspiciously at her. "Are you...trying to threaten me?" When she just offered him another angelic smile, he scowled. "Even if I was a bit unnerved by that threat -- which I wasn't, mind you, because I'm not scared of a four-year-old -- I can't cook. At all. You wouldn't like my soup."
One of the boys tilted his head and eyed him. "You hafta be a good cook. Otherwise you'd be skinny, and you're not."
Now Rodney squinted suspiciously at the boy, suspecting he'd just been called fat. "I told you, I can't cook! Besides, you all have mothers waiting at home to give you soup and whatever the hell children eat. Go home, to them."
"I don't have a mommy," one of the children -- Rodney couldn't tell which one, but it sounded like a little girl -- interjected, tone pitiful, and Rodney wondered if it meant an instant ticket to Hell that he thought she was lying.
"Yes, well, then you can go with one of the other children and their mother will make you soup. See how that works? Now, shoo. All of you." He flapped his hands at them, and sighed when none of them budged. "Please?"
"Soup," the little girl said, slowly and dangerously, and Rodney wished he'd never, ever heard of the stupid town called Hamelin.
The door to the tavern opened, and John looked up, grinning at the familiar sight of a darkly scowling Rodney McKay. "Hey, McKay, where have you--" He stopped and stared as a horde of children skipped in after the man, and then began to smirk. "Uh, so, McKay, do you have something you’d like to share?"
Rodney glared at him and made his way to his usual seat, muttering something about stupid barkeeps who think they’re hilarious and stupid children who are...stupid. He was apparently ignoring his little entourage, even as they clustered around his chair and gazed at the insides of the tavern with wide, curious eyes.
"Your usual?" John drawled, polishing a glass and wondering how long it would take his father to realize there were children inside his tavern and how badly the senior Sheppard would terrorize them. Actually, that was probably Rodney's plan all along, judging by the way Rodney's eyes kept going hopefully to the stairs, which led up to the bedrooms.
"Something stronger," Rodney said bitterly. "This will probably be my last drink, seeing as these miserable urchins are going to get me killed." He glared down at the nearest child, who beamed back and looked painfully adorable with a smudge on her tiny, freckled nose.
"And where did these children come from again?" John asked, even as he poured Rodney the strongest liquor they had to offer.
"Hamelin," was the gloomy answer.
John blinked. "That rat-infested town two hamlets over? What were you doing there?"
"An experiment," Rodney continued in the same gloomy tone. "I theorized that if I played a pipe at a certain volume and pitch, it would affect the thinking processes of small creatures." He brightened for a moment. "It worked, too. I managed to drive all the rats out of the town. Of course, the idiots in Hamelin kept telling me to drive the rats into the river, when everyone knows rats can swim, so I drove them over a nearby cliff instead."
Then his shoulders slumped, and he grabbed the mug John pushed towards him, cradling it to his chest almost desperately. "But apparently, small creatures like children can hear the noise too, but oddly, they liked the noise, and decided to follow me. And now they won't go away." Rodney paused, and glared at the children, all of whom just smiled.
John looked at the children, and counted eight. Three boys and five girls (though the smallest child could have been either gender, John really wasn't sure), all nestled at Rodney's feet. He couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. "You're such a charmer, McKay." Winking conspiratorially at the children, he asked, "You all hungry? I think I've got some soup left over from supper--"
"Soup!" one of the little girls shouted in a triumphant voice, and Rodney groaned and took a long, desperate swallow of his drink.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-10 06:29 pm (UTC)yay the little girl got her soup, but you are right, he makes a terrible pied piper. you get the most random ideas though. i love them, but waaaaay random. lol. now how many sga stories are you working on now? *laughs hysterically*
no subject
Date: 2006-10-10 07:17 pm (UTC)And I already have all these ideas for this fic too, with Radek, Ford, Teyla, and Elizabeth and whatnot. *pouts* Damnit. My muses are evil and overproductive.
And that little soup girl is evil. Evil I say. *grins*