So I will write a drabble. One. Except maybe not 100 words, so call it a scrabble. Or a crabble. Whatever. Anyway, if anyone has ideas...did I mention this day sucks? Good. Okay. Just checking. Put schmoopy or dirty or cracked images in my head. I will be back from getting coffee in fifteen minutes. Go! You will not be graded on penmenship.
Somehow I also have six tiny sga writing things going on. Calling them projects is too grandiose. Still. Weird.
When John turned into a giant bug, he refused to leave his quarters. In response, throwing everyone for a loop including himself, Rodney moved in. He set up a makeshift office centered around his laptop and coffee cup and took over the bed, since John wasn't using it.
John looked like a large praying mantis, with glossy black chitin, iridescent wings, and antennae that spiked and drooped like moody minimalist hair. His eyes were big and intense, completely dark but strangely expressive. He also chittered irritably from time to time, usually when Rodney was talking. They were apparently still arguing. Rodney was trying to learn John's language so that he could better justify his positions, though it was pretty clear that John still understood English just fine.
John also still had the ATA gene, which everyone agreed was unfathomable. But whenever someone stopped by to see Rodney, John mentally slammed the door shut again before they could enter.
"I don't know why you're so embarrassed to be seen," Rodney complained after John locked Radek out.
"Xtkxx'rrxxx!" John's wings lifted and buzzed in a spasm of emotion and his feelers waved wildly around. Incomprehensible and useless; but Rodney had gotten used to holding up his own conversational end without worrying too much about John's. It wasn't as if he'd ever listened that closely before.
"Oh please. You think I'd care if it happened to me? If someone laughed I'd just bite their head off. Literally, I mean."
John's own head lowered and his feelers poked the air meaningfully in Rodney's direction.
Rodney gave him a sour look. "Don't get any ideas." He resumed typing. "I'm the person most instrumental to your recovery--besides Beckett."
"Lorne just gets you bugs. Though I suppose that's important too. They say the way to a man's thorax is through his abdomen." He paused, frowning to consider that. "At least if you're heading upwa--hey!" A claw was scraping at his shoulder, rucking the material of his shirt in aggressive little movements. "Excuse me for trying to stay upbeat!"
John hunched over a bit, feelers drooping, and his grasp loosened as if he couldn't sustain his temper. His eyes were dark, despondent wells.
Awkwardly and impulsively, Rodney took his claw in hand. "We're *going* to reverse this. Trust me."
John bent his head lower and rested it on Rodney's shoulder. "There, there," Rodney said briskly, unsure what to do. Thankfully the door buzzed before he was required to come up with any other sentimental gestures. "Um. I think your flies are here."