Drabble marathon: #5.
#5. For K., who said, I think what I'd like most in the world is some small snippet from college life with John, Rodney, and Carson as roommates, from Unidentified-verse. SGA AU, takes place two years after the first flashback in Unidentified. As mentioned in the DVD commentary, the original draft of Jeannie and John's phone conversation referred to this incident.
[1994. November.]
"Well, it'll do what you want it to do," Carson says as he rounds the corner into Rodney's lab, "but I'm not sure you've got the chemical composition quite right."
Neither John nor Rodney look up from what they're doing, not that Carson expected them to. "Well, I'm sure," Rodney says around a couple of bits of wire. "Just because I've chosen a field of study that concerns itself with the universe's grand underlying truths doesn't mean I completely ignored the more concrete mechanisms. It'll work fine. Sheppard, electrical tape, seven centimeters."
"What's that in inches again?" John asks, rolling his eyes, but he rips a strip off and hands it to Rodney.
Carson strips the latex gloves off and chucks them into the nearest bin. "I just said it'll work, Rodney," he retorts, "I just think there may be a few tweaks you want to make to the formula--"
"You're such a mother hen." Rodney deftly twists the tape into place with one hand, using the other to slip what looks like a military-grade water balloon into the shallow box John's holding open. "Is it toxic?"
"No," Carson says, "but--"
Rodney grabs a pair of wire cutters and a spring off the work table. "Is it going to ruin the doubtlessly sub-par classroom infrastructure that that rip-off of a prep school has purchased with some small fraction of the ridiculous tuition it charges?"
"Well, that depends on the amount of skin oils coating the surfaces, but most likely not--"
"Then it's fine, what are you worried about?" Rodney snaps, getting the thumb tack into position. "That jackass needs to learn that you can't just toy with a woman's affections, even if she is twelve years old and intent on destroying her mind with those moronic romance novels--"
"So what you're saying is no one can be mean to your sister but you, right?" John says, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Rodney ..."
Carson snorts. "Not that anyone could see the slightest problem with a doctoral student couriering a booby-trapped package across the border to a boy barely in secondary school, but still, you might want to consider that--"
"Hey, buddy," John says with more urgency, "I think you've got the tension on the trigger mechanism set too--"
"Oh my god, would you both just quit--" Rodney moans, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
Carson just manages to close his eyes before the dye packet explodes.
"--that this batch is likely to stain for two months, not two weeks," he finishes faintly.
When he opens his eyes, John is staring at him with the mild expression that, after two years living with him, Carson has learned to interpret as unadulterated horror. "How long does it take to set?" The translucent pink of the wet splotches is deepening even as Carson looks on.
"Forty-five seconds," Rodney says, and practically shoves John off his stool as he bolts for the emergency showers.
They get there quickly enough that the neon pink of the dye fades after only two days. The bruises from when John and Carson tackle Rodney to the tile floor last longer.
[1994. November.]
"Well, it'll do what you want it to do," Carson says as he rounds the corner into Rodney's lab, "but I'm not sure you've got the chemical composition quite right."
Neither John nor Rodney look up from what they're doing, not that Carson expected them to. "Well, I'm sure," Rodney says around a couple of bits of wire. "Just because I've chosen a field of study that concerns itself with the universe's grand underlying truths doesn't mean I completely ignored the more concrete mechanisms. It'll work fine. Sheppard, electrical tape, seven centimeters."
"What's that in inches again?" John asks, rolling his eyes, but he rips a strip off and hands it to Rodney.
Carson strips the latex gloves off and chucks them into the nearest bin. "I just said it'll work, Rodney," he retorts, "I just think there may be a few tweaks you want to make to the formula--"
"You're such a mother hen." Rodney deftly twists the tape into place with one hand, using the other to slip what looks like a military-grade water balloon into the shallow box John's holding open. "Is it toxic?"
"No," Carson says, "but--"
Rodney grabs a pair of wire cutters and a spring off the work table. "Is it going to ruin the doubtlessly sub-par classroom infrastructure that that rip-off of a prep school has purchased with some small fraction of the ridiculous tuition it charges?"
"Well, that depends on the amount of skin oils coating the surfaces, but most likely not--"
"Then it's fine, what are you worried about?" Rodney snaps, getting the thumb tack into position. "That jackass needs to learn that you can't just toy with a woman's affections, even if she is twelve years old and intent on destroying her mind with those moronic romance novels--"
"So what you're saying is no one can be mean to your sister but you, right?" John says, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Rodney ..."
Carson snorts. "Not that anyone could see the slightest problem with a doctoral student couriering a booby-trapped package across the border to a boy barely in secondary school, but still, you might want to consider that--"
"Hey, buddy," John says with more urgency, "I think you've got the tension on the trigger mechanism set too--"
"Oh my god, would you both just quit--" Rodney moans, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
Carson just manages to close his eyes before the dye packet explodes.
"--that this batch is likely to stain for two months, not two weeks," he finishes faintly.
When he opens his eyes, John is staring at him with the mild expression that, after two years living with him, Carson has learned to interpret as unadulterated horror. "How long does it take to set?" The translucent pink of the wet splotches is deepening even as Carson looks on.
"Forty-five seconds," Rodney says, and practically shoves John off his stool as he bolts for the emergency showers.
They get there quickly enough that the neon pink of the dye fades after only two days. The bruises from when John and Carson tackle Rodney to the tile floor last longer.