WIP Amnesty week: The Fair Folk
Title: The Fair Folk
Characters: The team, Elizabeth, OC
Rating: PG
Summary: John wanders off during a recon mission to the bemusement of the team. But his disappearance may not be what it appears.
A/N: Since it's WIP Amnesty week, I thought I'd pitch in with one or two fics that don't appear to be going anywhere. :)
"What do you mean? You lost him?" Elizabeth had hoped that for once, just once, a mission would go as planned.
"Why are you accusing us of losing him? He's the one who wandered off." Rodney glowered. "I swear he's like a child. Sees something shiny and suddenly he's nowhere to be found."
"But he is lost?"
Rodney considered a moment. "Well, more like misplaced."
Elizabeth massaged one eyebrow with her index finger. "This is not the time for a semantic argument."
Rodney threw up his hands. "Why does everyone say that? When is the right time for it?"
"When our military commander isn't missing!"
*
They really hadn't meant to lose him. But John was the sort that, if he had been a character in a horror film, he would've been the one heading into the dark basement alone to check out the suspicious noise. And while visiting a small village on P9X-824, John had done just that. From what Teyla said, John had last been seen aimlessly wandering through the village square while the linguist they had dragged along tried to figure out what the natives were saying. John had been complaining about seeing weird lights and they thought he had gone off to investigate. Fifteen minutes later when they tried to find him, he was gone, leaving no trace that he had ever even been there.
Ronon insisted that the villagers were behind it, and even Teyla admitted that they did not seem apologetic about the disappearance. Both Rodney and Ronon had wanted to immediately mount a rescue mission and storm the village, but Teyla, ever the practical one, persuaded them that it would be wiser to get reinforcements. The planet was large and unknown, and they had no idea where John might be or what sort of creatures might have him. Part of Teyla doubted that he had been spirited away; she thought it was more likely that he had just lost his way or been stuck out of radio contact, but it didn't do to underestimate the Atlanteans power of making the absurd possible. And she had to admit that John was especially adept at it (which sometimes made what she felt for him all the more surprising).
The whole group listened intently as Dr. Tom Russo, their head linguist, tried to explain what the Furadd of P9X-824 had told him about John's disappearance.
"They have no idea where he might be?" asked Rodney. What little patience he possessed was wearing thin.
"No, but I gathered this wasn't the first time it's happened," Dr. Russo replied.
"People regularly get snatched from the planet and no one's bothered to put up a sign or anything?"
"Rodney," Teyla sighed.
“What? It’s a valid point!”
Elizabeth sighed. “Continue, Dr. Russo.”
“What I was going to say is that I don’t think he was kidnapped. Well, not technically kidnapped.” The man thought about it for a minute. “I think the translation is more like, uh, ‘stolen away’.”
Rodney slumped down in a chair in disgust. “Please tell me it’s not more Ancient bimbos because we all know how well that always goes. Whenever one of those women get their claws into him, we always get shot at.”
Dr. Russo consulted his notes. “No, not Ancients. The details were a little hard to interpret, but they made it sound like the Fair Folk.”
“See? Ancients.”
Dr. Russo shook his head. “No, no, Fair Folk as in the Sidhe, the Good Ones, the Gentry.”
There was silence in the room as Dr. Russo looked around expectantly. He’d hoped that just once his revelations would be received with expressions of shock and awe and maybe a murmur of appreciation. When it became clear that no such reaction would be forthcoming, he sighed and said, “Fairies.”
More silence filled the room.
“I’m sorry,” Rodney said slowly. “I must have had a stroke; I thought you said ‘fairies’.”
“I did,” Dr. Russo assured him. “The Furadd have detailed accounts of similar experiences, and they hold a remarkable similarity to tales of fairy abductions from the British Isles.”
Ronon stopped his pacing long enough to ask, “What’s a fairy?”
“Miniature people in sickeningly pastel colors with frothy wings,” Rodney said with a look of disgust. When he got blank looks from both Ronon and Teyla, he clarified: “Tinkerbell.”
“Oh,” they both replied, nodding.
Rodney rolled his eyes with a sneer. The biologists had been on a Disney kick and had subjected them all to a run of, in Rodney’s mind, saccharine-sweet monstrosities, the latest being Peter Pan. It had caused no end of trouble, the least of which was several of the Athosian children getting it into their heads that they were the modern incarnation of the Lost Boys. Sling-shots had been banned after a lucky shot had nearly taken out Sgt. Jimenez’s eye. Rodney hated to think what would happen if they found out they could get their grimy little hands on a pint-sized companion of their very own.
Dr. Russo held up a hand. “Actually, not like that at all. Tinkerbell and other such creations were the inventions of Victorian romantics.” He stabbed a finger at his notes. “These creatures are more like those from much older stories-“
“Why were we even debating this?” Rodney cut in. “It’s not like fairies even exist! The villagers probably beat unsuspecting visitors over the head, drag them away, and blame it on made-up creatures.”
Elizabeth leaned on the conference table. “Until ten years ago, you thought the same thing about aliens.”
Rodney huffed out an annoyed sigh, making it clear that a mere fact wasn’t going to diminish how right he was on the matter.
“As I was saying,” Dr. Russo continued, “these creatures aren’t the harmless fairies from children's stories - granting wishes, hanging around flowers, and so forth. If the stories the Furadd told me are true, they are powerful creatures in their own right. They are temperamental, unpredictable, and have an exacting sort of justice.”
“How do we know this?” Teyla asked.
“As I said before, the legends the Furadd have are remarkably similar to those from various cultures on Earth. It’s not far-fetched to think that the Ancients might have carried such legends with them when they escaped to Earth.”
“Oh, great,” Rodney said. “Not only did they create a race of space-vampires, they spread their lunacy through the universe as well. It’s a miracle no one gave those folks medals for their philanthropic contributions.”
The gate technician, Chuck, stuck his head in the conference room. “Ma’am,” he said to Elizabeth. “Lorne and his team just returned.”
Elizabeth stood up straight. “Thank you. Tell Major Lorne to meet us up here after he and his team have been checked out in the infirmary.” She turned to Dr. Russo. “In the meantime, you need to debrief us on everything the Furadd told you about these creatures and what we can surmise from that information.”
Characters: The team, Elizabeth, OC
Rating: PG
Summary: John wanders off during a recon mission to the bemusement of the team. But his disappearance may not be what it appears.
A/N: Since it's WIP Amnesty week, I thought I'd pitch in with one or two fics that don't appear to be going anywhere. :)
"What do you mean? You lost him?" Elizabeth had hoped that for once, just once, a mission would go as planned.
"Why are you accusing us of losing him? He's the one who wandered off." Rodney glowered. "I swear he's like a child. Sees something shiny and suddenly he's nowhere to be found."
"But he is lost?"
Rodney considered a moment. "Well, more like misplaced."
Elizabeth massaged one eyebrow with her index finger. "This is not the time for a semantic argument."
Rodney threw up his hands. "Why does everyone say that? When is the right time for it?"
"When our military commander isn't missing!"
*
They really hadn't meant to lose him. But John was the sort that, if he had been a character in a horror film, he would've been the one heading into the dark basement alone to check out the suspicious noise. And while visiting a small village on P9X-824, John had done just that. From what Teyla said, John had last been seen aimlessly wandering through the village square while the linguist they had dragged along tried to figure out what the natives were saying. John had been complaining about seeing weird lights and they thought he had gone off to investigate. Fifteen minutes later when they tried to find him, he was gone, leaving no trace that he had ever even been there.
Ronon insisted that the villagers were behind it, and even Teyla admitted that they did not seem apologetic about the disappearance. Both Rodney and Ronon had wanted to immediately mount a rescue mission and storm the village, but Teyla, ever the practical one, persuaded them that it would be wiser to get reinforcements. The planet was large and unknown, and they had no idea where John might be or what sort of creatures might have him. Part of Teyla doubted that he had been spirited away; she thought it was more likely that he had just lost his way or been stuck out of radio contact, but it didn't do to underestimate the Atlanteans power of making the absurd possible. And she had to admit that John was especially adept at it (which sometimes made what she felt for him all the more surprising).
The whole group listened intently as Dr. Tom Russo, their head linguist, tried to explain what the Furadd of P9X-824 had told him about John's disappearance.
"They have no idea where he might be?" asked Rodney. What little patience he possessed was wearing thin.
"No, but I gathered this wasn't the first time it's happened," Dr. Russo replied.
"People regularly get snatched from the planet and no one's bothered to put up a sign or anything?"
"Rodney," Teyla sighed.
“What? It’s a valid point!”
Elizabeth sighed. “Continue, Dr. Russo.”
“What I was going to say is that I don’t think he was kidnapped. Well, not technically kidnapped.” The man thought about it for a minute. “I think the translation is more like, uh, ‘stolen away’.”
Rodney slumped down in a chair in disgust. “Please tell me it’s not more Ancient bimbos because we all know how well that always goes. Whenever one of those women get their claws into him, we always get shot at.”
Dr. Russo consulted his notes. “No, not Ancients. The details were a little hard to interpret, but they made it sound like the Fair Folk.”
“See? Ancients.”
Dr. Russo shook his head. “No, no, Fair Folk as in the Sidhe, the Good Ones, the Gentry.”
There was silence in the room as Dr. Russo looked around expectantly. He’d hoped that just once his revelations would be received with expressions of shock and awe and maybe a murmur of appreciation. When it became clear that no such reaction would be forthcoming, he sighed and said, “Fairies.”
More silence filled the room.
“I’m sorry,” Rodney said slowly. “I must have had a stroke; I thought you said ‘fairies’.”
“I did,” Dr. Russo assured him. “The Furadd have detailed accounts of similar experiences, and they hold a remarkable similarity to tales of fairy abductions from the British Isles.”
Ronon stopped his pacing long enough to ask, “What’s a fairy?”
“Miniature people in sickeningly pastel colors with frothy wings,” Rodney said with a look of disgust. When he got blank looks from both Ronon and Teyla, he clarified: “Tinkerbell.”
“Oh,” they both replied, nodding.
Rodney rolled his eyes with a sneer. The biologists had been on a Disney kick and had subjected them all to a run of, in Rodney’s mind, saccharine-sweet monstrosities, the latest being Peter Pan. It had caused no end of trouble, the least of which was several of the Athosian children getting it into their heads that they were the modern incarnation of the Lost Boys. Sling-shots had been banned after a lucky shot had nearly taken out Sgt. Jimenez’s eye. Rodney hated to think what would happen if they found out they could get their grimy little hands on a pint-sized companion of their very own.
Dr. Russo held up a hand. “Actually, not like that at all. Tinkerbell and other such creations were the inventions of Victorian romantics.” He stabbed a finger at his notes. “These creatures are more like those from much older stories-“
“Why were we even debating this?” Rodney cut in. “It’s not like fairies even exist! The villagers probably beat unsuspecting visitors over the head, drag them away, and blame it on made-up creatures.”
Elizabeth leaned on the conference table. “Until ten years ago, you thought the same thing about aliens.”
Rodney huffed out an annoyed sigh, making it clear that a mere fact wasn’t going to diminish how right he was on the matter.
“As I was saying,” Dr. Russo continued, “these creatures aren’t the harmless fairies from children's stories - granting wishes, hanging around flowers, and so forth. If the stories the Furadd told me are true, they are powerful creatures in their own right. They are temperamental, unpredictable, and have an exacting sort of justice.”
“How do we know this?” Teyla asked.
“As I said before, the legends the Furadd have are remarkably similar to those from various cultures on Earth. It’s not far-fetched to think that the Ancients might have carried such legends with them when they escaped to Earth.”
“Oh, great,” Rodney said. “Not only did they create a race of space-vampires, they spread their lunacy through the universe as well. It’s a miracle no one gave those folks medals for their philanthropic contributions.”
The gate technician, Chuck, stuck his head in the conference room. “Ma’am,” he said to Elizabeth. “Lorne and his team just returned.”
Elizabeth stood up straight. “Thank you. Tell Major Lorne to meet us up here after he and his team have been checked out in the infirmary.” She turned to Dr. Russo. “In the meantime, you need to debrief us on everything the Furadd told you about these creatures and what we can surmise from that information.”