.au fic: The lodge and the lightbox of mystery (Rodney, John)
First of all.... ♥♥♥♥
And in the spirit of the holidays... turkey!verse. I know, I can't believe it either.
The lodge and the lightbox of mystery (Rodney, John) G | ~1,120
The turkeys discover that humanity has something to offer them besides dried corn seeds and crabapple trees.
The lodge and the lightbox of mystery
Rodney, like most turkeys, has a love/hate relationship with the humans who live near him. Some of them try to shoot him and his friends, which he hates, but others aren't so bad. The not-bad ones are lazy and don't bother defending the crabapple tree that's on their territory, and don't try to chase the flock away from the stream; best of all, they have signs that warn the humans with the big noisy sticks and orange plumage away.
There are a few drawbacks. The cars for one, which occasionally sun themselves on the gravel walk and tend to distract John, who likes to examine his reflection in their shiny surfaces or flap up onto their backs and peer inside. This puts the entire flock in danger of being attacked by the dog the humans keep, but the dog (like humans in general) is noisy and stupid, and any turkey worth its pinfeathers is safely airborne well before the dog's even thought about lunging for them.
Well, there was that one time with the dog and Kavanagh, but that had been funny. Even Teyla, who'd clucked disapprovingly while Rodney and Ronon yodeled with laughter at the sight of the telling gap in the fan of Kavanagh's tail, had been amused.
It's possible, Rodney decides, that there may be another disadvantage to the humans, if you could call it a disadvantage as such. He suspects that it's not a disadvantage so much as it is a way in which humans, improbably, are superior to Meleagris gallopavo silvestris.
(Rodney entertains this only as a hypothetical, because, pfft, mammals--bipedal mammals who are mostly bald and very clumsy and not good for much in general.)
They'd discovered the box for the first time when, mostly due to John's instigation, they'd ventured up on one of the bushes the humans have planted around their lodge.
(Rodney and Radek have spent a lot of time arguing about what, specifically, it is, a gigantic thing made of wood and stone that houses the humans and their stupid, noisy dog. It's a lodge, Radek had squawked, flapping his wings in frustration, because the humans bring wood from all over and assemble it, as beavers do, even though Rodney had pointed out the humans hadn't built it across the stream, just near it.
"He has a point," John, a wholly unwelcome auditor to their discussion, had said.
So lodges it was. Radek had puffed up his skinny chest in victory and gone off to try to impress someone.)
Anyway, they'd been up on the bush the other day, looking for berries, and they'd seen it, the lightbox.
And it had been amazing.
"Do you see that?" John breathed, the feathers on the back of his neck spiking up the way they did when he was excited about something.
"Yeah."
Rodney, to be honest, had no idea what he was seeing, but no way was he going to let John know that. Instead they watched through the clear opening into the lodge--the window, Rodney reminded himself--and watched the lightbox, which glowed and seemed to house other humans, smaller humans, moving around. Through the window, which was thin, they could hear numerous voices, all belonging to the humans in the box.
At the time, Rodney had been in the middle of trying to figure out what this thing was, and why the humans--their humans, the humans who lived in the lodge and failed to guard the crabapple tree--were so entranced by it. But then the dog had seen them and leaped up, mouth gaping hideously, and even though the window was safely between him and the dog's slavering, gleaming teeth, Rodney launched himself into the air and fled for the cover of their forest.
"Maybe," John speculates now, "this is why they don't care about the crabapple tree; they're too busy watching this."
Rodney, very graciously, concedes the possibility that John has a point.
They're perched on the bushes again, hunkered low so they can barely see inside. The humans in the box talk to themselves. They have near-identical plumage, flat black and grey and blue--extremely boring, if Rodney says so himself. One of the humans appears to be agitated, for what reason, Rodney can't divine. It's not like humans have anything, besides their own monumental slowness and stupidity, to worry about.
Abruptly, the lightbox switches, and it's different humans this time. (Humans, Ronon observes dryly from his position next to Rodney, like to watch themselves a lot.) It appears to be two flocks of them, one all in blue and the other all in red, facing each other. A shrill whistle sounds and the humans charge each other, flinging themselves into a large, uncomfortable-looking pile. After a few, confused moments, they separate, line up, and repeat the process.
Crash, crash, crash. Two human voices--not the actual humans, the lightbox humans--seem to be providing some kind of narrative or explanation of the chaos. Following a series of whistles, one of them sounds exceedingly upset. Rodney sympathizes; he'd be upset if he had to watch that, too.
From the recesses of the lodge, one of the humans makes an exasperated sound. Rodney tenses, waiting for the human or the dog to appear, but nothing happens.
"We have risked being out in the open long enough," Teyla says quietly from her post on the ground. Unlike John--and Ronon and Radek and Lorne and, in his heart of hearts, Rodney--she has absolutely no interest in the lightbox, and is only with them in the misguided belief they'll get into trouble without her around.
"Teyla, you need to see this," John protests.
"We need to go," Teyla says.
As if on cue, footsteps sound from inside the lodge, accompanied by the click-click-click of the dog's claws on the wood. Rodney can practically see the saliva slicking its teeth, and the mad, idiot gleam in its eyes.
Even for a wild turkey, Rodney has a highly developed sense of self-preservation. He doesn't even wait for Ronon before flapping quietly down to join Teyla in the cover of the shrubs. His heart, though, rackets inside his chest so loudly he half-expects one of the humans, or even worse, the dog, to look out the window to see what the noise is.
And if they looked out the window, they'd see John, who's still up there, staring avidly at the lightbox and oblivious to everything, even Rodney's approaching panic.
"John," he hisses. "John."
"One second, Rodney."
"Not one second, now."
With a sigh of reluctance so loud Rodney's positive the dog had to have heard it, John tears away from the window and hops down, fluffing his feathers to make it clear he only came down because he thought it was a good idea, and not because Rodney told him to. After a pause to get John oriented in the direction of the stream, where they'd been headed before taking a detour to investigate the lightbox, they slip quickly away.
Despite the swiftness and stealth, Rodney can't help but notice John trailing behind and, very conspicuously, pausing to glance back over his shoulder, up at the lightbox and the humans crashing into each other.
Rodney sighs; this can't mean anything good for him, no, nothing good at all.
And in the spirit of the holidays... turkey!verse. I know, I can't believe it either.
The lodge and the lightbox of mystery (Rodney, John) G | ~1,120
The turkeys discover that humanity has something to offer them besides dried corn seeds and crabapple trees.
The lodge and the lightbox of mystery
Rodney, like most turkeys, has a love/hate relationship with the humans who live near him. Some of them try to shoot him and his friends, which he hates, but others aren't so bad. The not-bad ones are lazy and don't bother defending the crabapple tree that's on their territory, and don't try to chase the flock away from the stream; best of all, they have signs that warn the humans with the big noisy sticks and orange plumage away.
There are a few drawbacks. The cars for one, which occasionally sun themselves on the gravel walk and tend to distract John, who likes to examine his reflection in their shiny surfaces or flap up onto their backs and peer inside. This puts the entire flock in danger of being attacked by the dog the humans keep, but the dog (like humans in general) is noisy and stupid, and any turkey worth its pinfeathers is safely airborne well before the dog's even thought about lunging for them.
Well, there was that one time with the dog and Kavanagh, but that had been funny. Even Teyla, who'd clucked disapprovingly while Rodney and Ronon yodeled with laughter at the sight of the telling gap in the fan of Kavanagh's tail, had been amused.
It's possible, Rodney decides, that there may be another disadvantage to the humans, if you could call it a disadvantage as such. He suspects that it's not a disadvantage so much as it is a way in which humans, improbably, are superior to Meleagris gallopavo silvestris.
(Rodney entertains this only as a hypothetical, because, pfft, mammals--bipedal mammals who are mostly bald and very clumsy and not good for much in general.)
They'd discovered the box for the first time when, mostly due to John's instigation, they'd ventured up on one of the bushes the humans have planted around their lodge.
(Rodney and Radek have spent a lot of time arguing about what, specifically, it is, a gigantic thing made of wood and stone that houses the humans and their stupid, noisy dog. It's a lodge, Radek had squawked, flapping his wings in frustration, because the humans bring wood from all over and assemble it, as beavers do, even though Rodney had pointed out the humans hadn't built it across the stream, just near it.
"He has a point," John, a wholly unwelcome auditor to their discussion, had said.
So lodges it was. Radek had puffed up his skinny chest in victory and gone off to try to impress someone.)
Anyway, they'd been up on the bush the other day, looking for berries, and they'd seen it, the lightbox.
And it had been amazing.
"Do you see that?" John breathed, the feathers on the back of his neck spiking up the way they did when he was excited about something.
"Yeah."
Rodney, to be honest, had no idea what he was seeing, but no way was he going to let John know that. Instead they watched through the clear opening into the lodge--the window, Rodney reminded himself--and watched the lightbox, which glowed and seemed to house other humans, smaller humans, moving around. Through the window, which was thin, they could hear numerous voices, all belonging to the humans in the box.
At the time, Rodney had been in the middle of trying to figure out what this thing was, and why the humans--their humans, the humans who lived in the lodge and failed to guard the crabapple tree--were so entranced by it. But then the dog had seen them and leaped up, mouth gaping hideously, and even though the window was safely between him and the dog's slavering, gleaming teeth, Rodney launched himself into the air and fled for the cover of their forest.
"Maybe," John speculates now, "this is why they don't care about the crabapple tree; they're too busy watching this."
Rodney, very graciously, concedes the possibility that John has a point.
They're perched on the bushes again, hunkered low so they can barely see inside. The humans in the box talk to themselves. They have near-identical plumage, flat black and grey and blue--extremely boring, if Rodney says so himself. One of the humans appears to be agitated, for what reason, Rodney can't divine. It's not like humans have anything, besides their own monumental slowness and stupidity, to worry about.
Abruptly, the lightbox switches, and it's different humans this time. (Humans, Ronon observes dryly from his position next to Rodney, like to watch themselves a lot.) It appears to be two flocks of them, one all in blue and the other all in red, facing each other. A shrill whistle sounds and the humans charge each other, flinging themselves into a large, uncomfortable-looking pile. After a few, confused moments, they separate, line up, and repeat the process.
Crash, crash, crash. Two human voices--not the actual humans, the lightbox humans--seem to be providing some kind of narrative or explanation of the chaos. Following a series of whistles, one of them sounds exceedingly upset. Rodney sympathizes; he'd be upset if he had to watch that, too.
From the recesses of the lodge, one of the humans makes an exasperated sound. Rodney tenses, waiting for the human or the dog to appear, but nothing happens.
"We have risked being out in the open long enough," Teyla says quietly from her post on the ground. Unlike John--and Ronon and Radek and Lorne and, in his heart of hearts, Rodney--she has absolutely no interest in the lightbox, and is only with them in the misguided belief they'll get into trouble without her around.
"Teyla, you need to see this," John protests.
"We need to go," Teyla says.
As if on cue, footsteps sound from inside the lodge, accompanied by the click-click-click of the dog's claws on the wood. Rodney can practically see the saliva slicking its teeth, and the mad, idiot gleam in its eyes.
Even for a wild turkey, Rodney has a highly developed sense of self-preservation. He doesn't even wait for Ronon before flapping quietly down to join Teyla in the cover of the shrubs. His heart, though, rackets inside his chest so loudly he half-expects one of the humans, or even worse, the dog, to look out the window to see what the noise is.
And if they looked out the window, they'd see John, who's still up there, staring avidly at the lightbox and oblivious to everything, even Rodney's approaching panic.
"John," he hisses. "John."
"One second, Rodney."
"Not one second, now."
With a sigh of reluctance so loud Rodney's positive the dog had to have heard it, John tears away from the window and hops down, fluffing his feathers to make it clear he only came down because he thought it was a good idea, and not because Rodney told him to. After a pause to get John oriented in the direction of the stream, where they'd been headed before taking a detour to investigate the lightbox, they slip quickly away.
Despite the swiftness and stealth, Rodney can't help but notice John trailing behind and, very conspicuously, pausing to glance back over his shoulder, up at the lightbox and the humans crashing into each other.
Rodney sighs; this can't mean anything good for him, no, nothing good at all.