This can't be explained, but perhaps it can be excused.
I moderate a writers' comm on LJ, called fic_rush. We generally have one weekend a month in which we spend most of 48 hours writing, with hourly check-ins. During the check-ins, dreadful running jokes develop, and crackfic is frequently spawned in the final hours of the round.
I've posted some of the crack before this, to the MacGyver and crossover archives; and, to my astonishment, I was asked for more.
So I expect this will be an ongoing series of vignettes. Heaven help us all.
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This one's from the 'rush round of March 2011, in which the Time Chicken played a key role. Also, the UK went onto Daylight Savings Time in the middle of the round.
(No penguins were harmed in the writing of this fic.)
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"What did you say it's supposed to be?"
"Well, according to the legend the elder was telling me, the ritual meal is supposed to grant us protection against the evil of the tempus pullus."
"You don't have to shout like that, Jack," Daniel said patiently. "The Time Chicken."
"The Time Chicken. Apparently it's an important creature in their mythology. If proper measures aren't taken, the locals believe that time itself will begin to disappear. Their storytelling tradition has dozens of stories about the dangers of the tempus pullus – there's one that's kind of like our Rip Van Winkle, where the careless protagonist loses his entire life during one short nap, and another in which an obsessive but easily distracted poet never actually finishes his great saga of the gods because he never gets around to it, and – "
"That has to be the biggest bunch of crap yet," Jack said vehemently. "Teal'c, have you ever heard anything like this before?"
"I have not."
"Sir, it doesn't sound all that dangerous. Okay, it sounds, um . . . "
"Ridiculous?" suggested Daniel.
"Sure. That's it. Ridiculous. But not dangerous." The smells from the Place of Ritual were getting stronger. It was hard to concentrate. "Really, it won't take that much to humour them."
"Okay! Okay! We can re-set our watches, if it means that much. How much . . . "
"Um, one local 'hora' works out to forty-eight minutes and three seconds, Earth time."
"And – " Daniel glanced at the rest of the team. He could see the agreement in their eyes. "About the other part of the ritual . . . "
"What we're trying to say, sir, is that maybe this would be a good time to lighten up on the rule about sticking to MREs. We really don't want to offend the elders. I'm sure General Hammond will understand."
Jack was still glowering, but the decision had been taken out of his hands. Without a word, Teal'c turned and strode away from them, towards the Place of Ritual. Daniel followed. Sam cocked her head to one side.
"Okay, fine, Carter."
She beamed and hurried after the other two. Jack followed, trying to look gruff. It wasn't easy. Particularly not when he was determined to get there ahead of Teal'c, if he could manage it without actually running. As if he'd let them get to the fried chicken first. Hah.
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